


End of the Line

by smiles2go



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Ghosts, Platonic Soulmates, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smiles2go/pseuds/smiles2go
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this AU, Blair drowned in the fountain and Jim couldn’t save him.  Jim does not take this well and loses his senses and then his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, everyone knows I don't own it. 
> 
> I don’t know if a Peru, Washington exists. If it doesn’t, it should. And yes I know Blair drowned in the fountain in the spring, but spring won’t work in this AU so I moved it.

*-*

_Sentinel? Where are you? I can’t…I can’t…_

Struggling feebly through churning waves of dark molasses, Jim fought his way to the surface and gasped in a deep breath. _Hold on Chief, I’m coming._ Unable to open his eyes and using all his strength, Jim slowly turned his head toward the light. A slight moan escaped chapped lips, barely a breath of air. Everything hurt, from his toenails to the least little hair on his head. His bones ached as he tried to move a single finger and his eyelashes felt glued together and his ears stuffed with thick cotton wool. _Chief? I can’t seem to move. You’re gonna have to come to me. Can you hear me Chief? Chief? Where the hell are you?_

*-*

“Ellison? You awake man?” A warm hand gripped his. Jim frowned. He knew that voice. How could the speaker be so far away and still touching his hand? Maybe they weren’t the same person? Maybe … But then who was it? The voice and the hand seemed to go together. A sharp pain sparked in his mind and the frown deepened before smoothing out. _Too hard. Can’t…_ Jim let it go, sinking back under the waves into silent peace. _Sandburg would straighten it all out. Just rest until the Guide gets here._

*-*

The next time he became aware, he waited quietly, listening to harsh whispers. Someone was really mad, maybe two of them. One… the voice of reason, kept hushing them. Someone must be sleeping. Squeezing his eyes in concentration, Jim tried to make out the voices and realized there was someone else whispering his name from far away. _His Guide?_ He tried to move his lips, but no sound came out. Suddenly the other voices picked up in volume and the whispers were gone.

“Megan said Jim’s stuff was mostly all boxed up, like he was moving out. Are you telling me Sandburg’s was too?”

“I told you, the kid’s stuff was all packed up and stacked by the door!” The angry one hissed. “The whole apartment looked … he was leaving, definitely leaving.”

“He didn’t say anything to me.” The calm voice answered. “The kid would’ve said something if he was moving out. Probably neither of them’s moving anywhere. Maybe they just had to vacate the loft for something. I dunno, spraying or painting or … something.”

“He never said nothing to me about moving out either!” The angry one hissed louder. “He musta throwed the kid out again! Tossed him aside like yesterday’s garbage! Again!”

“You don’t know that!” The third one spoke up. “He wouldn’t do that after everything Hairboy’s done for him. He wouldn’t!”

“Just calm down. We’ll ask Jim when he wakes up. For now…” The voice trailed off and Jim moved his head slightly to hear better. _Ask Jim._ Was he was Jim? He was pretty sure. “… just leave everything alone for now. We’ll see what’s going on when Jim wakes up.” _No, he was Sentinel._ Someone else must be this Jim guy.

“Maybe he can sell some of it.” The angry voice was sarcastic now. “Maybe it’ll bring enough for a month’s rent.”

“Dammit, just shut up. You saw how upset he was at the fountain! He cared for the kid, really cared.”

“Sure.” The angry voice was defeated now and turned away. “Too little, too late. He was panting after that Barnes bitch so hard, he didn’t notice she was evil till the kid was floating face down.” 

Jim heard the door open and angry voice was gone. Someone sighed heavily and Jim heard a chair creak. “What the hell were you thinking Jim? What was going on with you two?”

Thinking? Yes he should be thinking. Figuring out where he was, whose voices he heard and where was his Guide. Why wasn’t he here, calming his… his Sentinel. He was Sentinel and the _Other_ was Guide. His Guide who should be here explaining things and making the voices stop arguing and giving him a headache. _Where are you Guide… where…_ Jim drifted off into the darkness, the beep-beep of the machines a poor substitute for his Guide’s heartbeat. 

*-*

“Sandburg?” His voice was rough, his mouth dry and scratchy. “Blair?” He tried to call a little louder, certain the kid couldn’t be far away, but his voice was all croaky and shattered. Last time Jim was in the hospital even Simon couldn’t drag him out before the Chief was assured Jim was gonna be okay. 

“Jim?” Rolling his head in the other direction, Jim blinked his eyes and focused on the man in the chair. _Simon._ “You finally decide to wake up and join the living?” It sounded like a joke, but he looked exhausted and uncomfortable. How long had he been out?

“Where’s Sandburg? Why isn’t he here?” Suddenly alarmed, Jim fought to sit up, throwing the sheet aside and ripping the IV out of his hand. A large hand in the middle of his chest pushed him down forcefully enough that Jim was lying flat before he knew it. “What the hell, Simon?” The sudden move left him gasping in pain.

“Lay still.” Simon’s voice was gruff and his eyes guarded. “How you feeling?”

“He’s awake then?” Joel pushed open the door and stuck his head in. “I’ll get the nurse.”

“I don’t need a nurse!” Jim cried pushing Simon’s hand away and tried unsuccessfully sit up, coughing harshly. “I need Sandburg. Where is he?” 

“Good luck with that.” Joel chuckled humorlessly before letting the door snick shut.

“What’s he talking about?” Jim pushed ineffectually against the hand forcing him down again. He must’ve been here for some time; he was weak as a kitten. “Where’s Sandburg.” His mouth was getting drier and he reached for a cup of ice chips he spotting on the little rolly table by the bed.

“You don’t remember?” Simon shot him a glance and then dropped his eyes. His lips twisted in pain or anger, Jim couldn’t tell.

“No.” Jim griped around a refreshing ice chip. “If I remembered then I wouldn’t be asking where he was, would I?” Jim sighed and gave up. Obviously Sandburg wasn’t here. Pushing his hearing out to listen for his Guide’s heartbeat, Jim froze and his hand squeezed the cup spilling some ice cubes into his lap. Tried again. Nothing. His hearing was just hearing, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. “Whaaa…” He mumbled, then snapped his mouth shut. One by one he tested his other senses and found them … normal. What the hell had happened? He fumbled the cup back onto the table and rubbed his face. When the ice chips started melting, he shook the blanket so they skittered across the floor toward the wall.

“Simon, tell me what happened.” Deciding not to say anything about his senses until he knew what was going on, Jim twisted in the hospital bed and focused bleary eyes on his boss. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?” He snapped, trying to put some force in his voice and get some control back.

Just as Jim was ready to push at Simon again, he sighed and met Jim’s eyes. Something was _really_ wrong. “You had a … a bad reaction to the sedative.” Simon dropped his eyes and leaned back in the chair, wiping a hand across his face with a heavy sigh.

“Sedative? Sandburg let them give me a sedative?” Jim asked unbelievingly throwing both hands up in the air. “I can’t…”

“Mr. Ellison!” A nurse pushed the door open and bounced in, her perky voice already giving Jim a headache. “We’re so glad you woke up! How are you feeling?” Without waiting for an answer, she started checking machines and was reaching to take his temperature when she saw the IV lying on the bed. Tsking him with a smile she stopped everything to prepare a new one and insert it, chatting cheerfully the entire time.

“My name’s Cassie. You’ve been here so long, I feel like we’re old friends.” If it were even possible, Jim felt her voice get ‘perkier’. He groaned and glanced at Simon who was struggling to hide a grin.

“We’ll just get you all comfy and I’ll see about getting you something to eat. You must be starving.” Flicking her hair back in a practiced move, she gave him a speculative smile. “How are you feeling?” Her hands were cold and Jim shivered whenever she touched him. “I’ll leave the doctor a message that you’re awake. He’ll be so excited.”

“Thirsty.” Jim managed to get a word in.

“Ah. I can fix that.” She reached for the pitcher of water on the sliding tray beside him and poured some in a small cup. Holding it out towards him, she gave Simon a quick glance. “This will relieve that dry throat.” She smiled at his nod and waited until he had both hands around the white Styrofoam cup before getting back to her machines, chatting the whole time.

Jim waited until the door was closed behind her and Joel entered walking straight over to stare out the window, his back to Jim.

“How long have I been here and where’s Sandburg?” He asked in an uncompromising voice. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. His eyes fastened on his hands, twisted in the white blanket around him. 

“You really don’t remember?” Simon asked, glancing at Joel’s back.

“Simon!” Jim growled. “I’ve had enough of your stonewalling crap. Just answer the question!” His hands tightened and with a groan he forced them to relax. Everything still hurt, but the pain had receded slightly to the background.

“You don’t remember the fountain?” Joel asked in a flat voice without turning around. “Alex Barnes? Nothing at all? What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“Fountain?” Jim rubbed at his face in frustration. His senses were gone, maybe his memory was shot too. He needed to talk to Sandburg, figure out what the hell had gone wrong. “No…” Jim trailed off when the pictures dropped into his mind—flashing one after the other laid out like crime scene photos. Alex laughing. The fountain at Rainier. Sandburg, wet. Lying on the ground. Mouth-to-mouth, he was giving Sandburg mouth-to-mouth. “Did they…” He swallowed. “Did they transfer him to a bigger hospital? Are his lungs alright?” He rubbed at his face again. “Dammit Simon, is Sandburg all right?” He gave Simon the best threatening glare he could manage, but Simon never looked up.

“He’s …dead, Jim.” For a brief moment, Jim flashed on Star Trek. _He’s dead Jim._ How many times had McCoy said that in the same monotone voice? How many times had they chuckled at the tv screen?

“What?” Jim shook his head to clear it. “I thought you said Sandburg was dead?” He grinned slightly just to show he got the joke.

“Jim—” Simon started but Joel exploded into movement and was leaning over the bed, angry face inches from Jim’s own stunned one.

“Sandburg is _dead.”_ Joel enunciated each word carefully to make sure Jim understood. “The kid was murdered—drowned. We couldn’t save him. We haven’t caught the— _her_ —yet either.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Megan and Rafe are on her trail. We expect to hear from them in the morning. They won’t let … her get away. She’s gonna pay for what she’s done. The _Bitch.”_

“No.” Jim whispered, more pictures assaulting his mind. “No.” He said louder, more sure of himself. Joel rolled his eyes and turned away to stare blankly at the window. “I mean yes, I remember now, he was in the fountain and I gave him mouth-to-mouth and it didn’t work…” He looked at his hands. “… and the paramedics came, but they gave up on him. I…” Closing his eyes tightly Jim fought to remember. “You pulled me back, my knees went all weak and I almost went down. But then, I put my hands around his face and we shared a vision…” He flashed a glance at Simon. “… a …Sentinel thing. And … and there was my jaguar and his wolf and they jumped and Sandburg was alive and coughing… and…”

“No Jim.” Simon sighed. “That’s not how it went. You’re remembering a dream or something.” He gestured apologetically with both palms open toward Jim. “I’ve never seen you so out of control. Who knows what was going on in that head of yours…”

“You went crazy.” Joel snorted without turning around. “You fought everyone, knelt beside him and grabbed up his body rocking and crooning at it. Screamed at us to leave you alone.” Joel’s voice lost all the anger and only sadness remained. He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “The paramedics had to sedate you to get Blair’s body.”

“No.” Jim shook his head back and forth in denial. “That’s wrong, that’s not what happened. Sandburg… Blair, he…” Closing his eyes against the words— _the lies_ —Jim clenched both hands in the flimsy hospital sheet and continued to shake his head. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. His Guide—Sandburg … just… no.

“You had a bad reaction to the sedative, went into convulsions. They had to strap you down and admit you into the hospital.” Simon kept on talking and Jim couldn’t seem to shut his voice out. The words pierced him like shrapnel from a particularly dirty bomb—a bomb of blatant lies. They had to be lies.

“No. Simon, that’s … shut up.” Jim pushed the covers aside and swung his legs down ignoring the dizziness. “Blair… Blair isn’t dead. This is some kind of trick. I remember—”

“You remember wrong!” Simon shouted loud enough that Joel’s head snapped around to stare at him in surprise. Simon rubbed his face and looked down. “Jim, the kid is gone. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“Prove it then, show me his body.” Jim dared knowing they couldn’t. His Guide couldn’t be dead. He’d know—feel it somehow. 

“Jim.” Simon sighed and stood, taking one step toward Jim. “We can’t show you his body.”

“See!” Jim crowed and ripped the IV out again ignoring the sting of pain. “I knew this was all a bunch of hogwash. Sandburg’s fine isn’t he!” Moving his legs toward the edge of the narrow bed, he held his breath and breathed through the pain. What if he couldn’t walk?

“You were out so long…” Simon looked at Joel’s back. “We…”

“You what?” Jim pushed his feet around feeling for his boots. Where were his clothes anyway? His eyes skittered around the room and saw a couple closed doors. One of them had to be a closet. If not he’d wear the gown out. No one was going to stop him from finding his Guide. “Talked him into this stunt? Is it payback for some perceived slight the kid complained about?”

“We cremated him two days ago.” Joel turned around and Jim got a good look at his face. Jim frowned at the deep circles under his eyes and new stress lines. “The urn is on your coffee table.”

“What?” Jim whispered started to get a really bad feeling and grabbed the bed to steady himself. “You what?” Sound distorted and came from a long tunnel. He could barely hear. He saw Simon reaching for him but he was so far away and getting farther each second. Jim blinked and held onto the bed as his knees turned to rubber. Warm hands settled on his shoulders and Jim frowned because Simon was still so far away. 

“Where do you think you’re going, you idiot?” Joel said softly, helping Jim sit back on the bed and pull the blanket over his legs. “You just woke up from what was basically a coma. You can’t get up and run around.” Jim ignored him and tried to concentrate on what Simon was saying.

“We didn’t know what he wanted. Couldn’t get a hold of his mom. Didn’t even know what you wanted… hell the loft is all packed up like you’re moving out. We couldn’t find any papers, so … we cremated him.”

“You’re lying. He’s not dead.” Jim said aloud to convince himself. “Sandburg is not gone. He can’t… he promised…” Jim thought about the last time he’d seen Sandburg. Face tight and gripping a coffee mug like he’d rather throw it than take a drink. Angry, hurt, resigned, but alive. Sandburg was _alive._

“I’m sorry Jim.” Somehow Simon had reached the side of the bed and patted his shoulder. “The kid’s gone.” His voice broke over the word ‘gone’ and Jim shivered. He sounded so sincere… no, no. It wasn’t true.

“No!” Jim screamed hoarsely, muscles in his jaw knotting tightly. _Liar._ “No. He’s …” Visibly calming himself, Jim took a couple deep breaths in the sudden silence and carefully unclenched his fists, running them up and down on top of the blanket. “I… Simon?” He looked up at Simon entreatingly and took a deep breath. “Will you put his stuff back? He’ll be upset if he sees it all packed away. I didn’t… I…” 

“Listen to yourself Jim!” Simon thundered completely out of patience. “None of us would lie to you. Not about this. Not about Sandburg.” Rubbing at his face, Simon let his breath out in a whoosh. “There must still be some of that sedative in your system. You’ve been having nightmares or something… calling out and thrashing around. The doctors don’t know…”

Ignoring the way they exchanged glances before looking back at him, Jim watched the IV swing back and forth at the end of the rubber tubing. “Simon _please._ I don’t want Blair to think I’m kicking him out again.” _Liar. Liar. You know what you said._ “No.” He said more to his self than them. “No.” _You remember the look in his eyes when you told him to leave and not come back._

The Guide could not be dead, it was unthinkable. Sentinel and Guide, they went together as a pair. There was no Other. They were meant to be together, not alone. He couldn’t be alone. He just …couldn’t. No way would Sandburg leave him. It had to be a lie. Maybe he was undercover or something… He’d have words with Simon if that were the case. But he wasn’t gone. He wasn’t.

“Stop looming over me Captain.” Jim mumbled and twisted the sheet in his hand. “He isn’t dead. I felt him. He’s alive.”

“If you felt anything, it’s that damn sedative!” Simon waved his hands in the air. “Some kind of drug induced dream or more likely, another nightmare.”

“If you felt anything, it’s the kid’s ghost.” Joel said quietly back at the window. Both Jim and Simon turned to stare at him in astonishment. “I was there Ellison. Sandburg is dead. I went to the funeral home and I made the arrangements. I picked out the flowers and I tried to find his mom. I said a few words…” Joel choked up and went on after a minute. “I picked out the urn and I told them what to put on it. I … I waited while they … they filled it and I carried it out to Simon.” He lifted shiny eyes to meet Jim’s. “There’s no mistake. The kid is dead.”

Jim had started shaking his head in denial before he realized it. He opened his mouth to answer and Simon cut in with a loud no. “Just let it go Joel. He’s still got that crap in his system. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not.” Grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, Simon gave Jim a commiserating look. “Look Jim, it’s late. You get some rest and we’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll be more yourself then and we can talk.”

Jim scowled mulishly and refused to answer him. Turning his head away when Simon opened the door and gave him a quiet good-night, Jim saw Joel stop out of the corner of his eye. “He’s gone Ellison. You’ve got to let him go.” 

 

*-*


	2. Chapter 2

*-*

 

Jim suffered silently while the same perky nurse—Cassie—reinserted the IV and tsked over his behavior. “You lie down and try to get some sleep. In the morning after your sponge bath…” she glanced up at him, giggling softly. “…the Doctor will be in to see you and everything will be better in the daylight.” Her hands were still cold and he refused to respond to her.

Watching the clock on the opposite wall tick over second after second, minute after minute, Jim waited immobile for exactly thirty minutes. As the last second ticked over, he rose silently, biting back a groan and pulled out the new IV. Holding onto anything in his reach to keep from falling, he made it across the room to check the closed doors for his clothes. 

Finding a bathroom and a small, narrow closet, he pulled his clothes out and rested against the chair Simon had sat in. With a snarl, he ripped at the strings and threw the hospital gown on the floor with a curse. It was just another sign of failure. His failure. Dressing methodically, he peeked out of the door quickly before walking down the hall like he owned the place. Each grunt of pain was swallowed down as he kept one hand on the wall for balance.

Smiling frozenly at a family waiting at the elevator, he tried to consciously relax his muscles after they edged a bit away from him, the father wrapping a hand around his son’s chest and pulling him tightly against him. Giving it up for a lost cause, Jim nodded and looked around for the stairwell. Slowly and carefully he took one step at a time gripping tightly to the banister. By the time he reached the bottom his legs were burning, but they held his weight. No one tried to stop him at the front desk and when he reached the sidewalk, Jim paused and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It had rained earlier and air was fresh, but there was nothing extra. His senses were still offline. He needed his Guide to explain what happened and fix it.

One lone cab was parked at the curb and Jim hoped he had enough cash in his wallet to get him home. Luckily the cabbie seemed as sleepy as Jim felt and didn’t engage in conversation. It only took twenty minutes to get to the loft and Jim handed over an extra five for leaving him alone. He made sure to check the parking lot for his truck before taking the elevator up, thankful that for once it was in working condition.

Leaning against the door, he let the aches and pains crash into him while he fumbled with keys. Five days spent unconscious in a hospital bed after reacting to a sedative was apparently not a good thing. He’d have to have Sandburg find out what kind of sedative the idiots had dosed him with. No way he wanted to go through this again.

Finally the knob turned and he stumbled inside. Flipping the switch on, Jim stopped in shocked surprise. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was in the wrong apartment. It was cold and empty and the sound of the door closing echoed across the space. The coffee table still sat in front of the sofa, but he couldn’t look there. The kitchen was as dark as the upstairs. 

Neatly labeled boxes were stacked on either side of the door. Putting out a hand to brush across the top box, Jim frowned heavily as he read the label. “Kitchen. Utensils, appliances, towels, silverware.” _No._ When had he done this? That was clearly his handwriting on the label.

He turned away, unable to deal with that yet and refused to look at the small stack of boxes, knowing they must be the ones Simon meant. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and searched his mind for the vision. Blue. Think blue. Wolf and Jaguar. Running. Yes… it was real and Sandburg was alive. He had to be alive because if he wasn’t…Jim staggered forward a step, but kept his eyes clenched shut. If he wasn’t, then the Blessed Protector had failed and that wasn’t an option.

Blue. _Blue._ BLUE. Jim pressed both hands against his head and tried to force a vision. Dammit Guide. Where the fuck are you? When nothing happened he opened his eyes and told himself he was just too tired and weak. He’d rest a bit and try again. Maybe if he ate some real food. Eventually he’d succeed and Sandburg would be there with him.

“Simon said you were dead and you weren’t coming back. But I know he’s wrong. I can still feel you here… inside.” He thumped his chest with two fingers and winced at the pain. Loath to make much noise, Jim shuffled around the loft and looking at bare walls, boxes piled up. It took all his courage to open the door to Sandburg’s little cubby under the stairs. Empty, even the bed was stripped down to bare mattress. He made a soft noise like a wounded animal and went inside. 

“You’re not gone. I heard you calling me… in the hospital. And I had a … vision.” Sitting on the bed, he ran his palms across the mattress as far as he could reach and wished for his sense of smell. There must be something of Sandburg left. _Something._ “I know I never wanted to talk about this stuff, but if you come back, we can work out it what it means. It has to mean something because you didn’t die in the vision. You’re not dead, do you hear me!”

Swallowing heavily Jim tucked both palms under his thighs and stared at the floor. “It was blue. Everything was blue and it was real. I know it was real. So…” Standing suddenly, he took another look around before striding out and leaving the door open ignoring any lingering pain. 

“So you see, I know you’re real and you’re not gone. Just please… please Chief… come back.” The whispered plea almost echoed in the empty loft and Jim stopped at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the banister before he changed his mind and flopped on the sofa, letting out a harsh grunt as his body hit the cushions. “I don’t understand why you’re not here. You should be here. Why aren’t you here?”

“I must have packed your stuff, but I don’t remember doing it.” Covering his mouth with one hand he thought about how little stuff Sandburg really had. A few clothes, some books, his masks and art and that was it. How could a man’s life be reduced to just four boxes? Sandburg hadn’t talked much about his life before Cascade, but Jim deduced from all the things he never said that the kid had never really had a home he could settle into. A place he’d belonged. That crazy mother of his was always packing up and moving on, looking for greener pastures—with or without her only son. It hit him suddenly that Sandburg had hoped and maybe thought he’d found that elusive home here, in the loft with him. “Fucking idiot.” Jim whispered. “I am a _fucking idiot.”_ Rubbing both palms down his thighs, Jim felt itchy and uncomfortable. “You belong here Sandburg. This is your home too. I had no right to tell you to leave. So just come back. Please.” Listening to the silence filled Jim with despair. Was the kid even listening?

How many times had he lost his temper over something stupid and told Sandburg to get out because it wasn’t working? How many times had he been unwilling to compromise, certain his way was right. Why hadn’t he even been willing to listen to the kid, who was supposed to be his Guide? When had he turned into his father? Hell, his father had been right, he was a fuck-up and he’d always be a fuck-up.

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I just… I couldn’t deal with everything and I thought…I thought… I felt smothered. I felt like neither one of us had a life. I wanted a normal life and I was certain that it wasn’t gonna happen if I was deep in the Sentinel-Guide stuff.”

“But I see now, being a Sentinel _is_ my life. I’m a … well I was a Sentinel.” Jim raked a hand through his hair and slumped back on the sofa. “I don’t know what I am now, but I… see there’s this hole inside of me. I just feel …empty inside. When you left, you took a part of me with you and …” Jim put both hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “… please come back. I need my Guide even if I can’t ever be a Sentinel anymore. Please Chief.” Jim sighed and dropped his hands. “You’re my best friend and without you I’m alone. Just another dumb schmuck trying to fake his way through life. I can’t be a cop or a Sentinel or… or … anything without you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that before it was too late.”

He must have fallen asleep, because he woke cold and cramped, curled into the corner of the sofa. Dawn was starting to lighten the edge of the windows; he couldn’t believe he’d slept for just a few hours. Stretching sore muscles, he vaguely wondered if there was anything to make coffee with in the kitchen.

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Jim slowly walked to the kitchen sink. With a cry, he grabbed the counter with both hands as his knees went rubbery. In a moment, he was able to unclench one hand and grab the mug from the sink, sloshing cold water over his hand. Sandburg had drank from that mug just… he gave up trying to figure out how many days ago and carefully cradled it in both hands. Lifting his head, Jim stared hard at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry. I can say it as many times as you want, but I can’t…” Giving up, he reached for a dishtowel and carefully dried the mug and sat it on the counter. It was Sandburg’s favorite mug and he’d surely come back for that.

After staring several minutes at the empty countertop, Jim remembered he must’ve packed the coffee maker. Looking over his shoulder at the stack of boxes a few feet from Sandburg’s he let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. Why—and that was the million dollar question—had he packed up all his stuff? He wasn’t moving. Alex—the bitch—had been whispering, suggesting _something,_ but he’d never give up the loft, just leave—not for her anyway. Would he? No, definitely not. Maybe she’d done something to him, maybe she was the reason he’d told the Chief to get out. It was all so vague and foggy. He couldn’t remember anything about her with any clarity.

Jim half-slid, half collapsed to the living room floor. Joel had said Megan and Rafe were on her trail. If they didn’t bring her back, he’d have to go himself. She just couldn’t ruin his life, Sandburg’s life and get away scott-free, she had to be punished. His fist closed and he absently rubbed it with his other hand.

But first, he had to get his Guide back. He couldn’t go after a Sentinel alone, not in the shape he was in. Sitting up a bit, he saw a pile of Sandburg’s bracelets and necklaces twisted together on the coffee table, like someone had just dumped them there. With shaking hands, Jim carefully straightened them and after a moment’s hesitation he put them on.

Lifting his eyes to the ceiling, Jim asked Sandburg for forgiveness. “I’m sorry Guide.” Jim’s voice broke and he had to stop and breathe before going on. “More sorry than I can ever say. Jim looked up, eyes searching the empty loft. “I failed you, Guide. I… I’m not worthy to be your Blessed Protector.” Swallowing heavily, his voice dropped to a whisper. “But… but if you come back, I promise… I _swear_ to you that I won’t let anyone hurt you again, not ever.”

Looking around hopefully, Jim waited silently watching dust motes dance in a beam of light before sagging back. “Please Guide. Don’t … don’t leave me here. I can’t… I can’t…” Rubbing at his face with one hand, Jim slid forward until he was lying on his side on the polished wood, one hand smoothing a knot over and over beside his cheek. “Is it because I lost my senses? That I’m not a Sentinel anymore… is that why you won’t come back?” Squeezing his eyes shut to stop the pricking behind his eyelids, Jim made a fist and slammed it into the wood. 

“I never wanted the damn things, but now… Sandburg… Blair… _Please._ I’ll do anything. I’ll take your stupid tests and any more you can dream up. I won’t yell at you ever again. I won’t ever kick you out… it’s you and me forever, pal. Just… please come back. I can’t… can’t… I can’t do this without you.” His voice trailed off into nothing while his thoughts became fuzzy and indistinct swooping around in his head like macabre dancers.

“You don’t just help with my senses, you balance every part of my life. You make me better, you make me want to _be_ better. I can’t go back to being the person I was before you… before you… fixed me. I… You’re my best friend Chief. I never knew what that meant before I met you. You’re… you’re family now and I need you.”

Rolling onto his back, Jim stared up at the beams of light, eyes caught by dust motes drifting by until he was aware of someone looking at him. _Sandburg?_ Blinking quickly, he sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked again. 

“Chief.” He breathed. Blair leaned casually over the railing at the top of the stairs his weight resting on his arms and eyes so sad they made Jim suck in a breath. “You came back.” Afraid to stand, Jim pulled his legs up and wrapped both arms around them, eyes never leaving Blair. “I told them they were wrong... I—” Jim started and broke off as Blair straightened and started to walk down the stairs. There was no bounce in his step, no light in his eyes. One hand trailed lightly down the banister, eyes on each step, hair falling forward and hiding his face as if he was afraid of falling. Jim suddenly realized he had on the same blue shirt and green jacket he’d had on the last time he’d seen him. The day they pulled him out of the fountain. 

“Chief?” Jim scrambled to his feet, but Blair was already at the door. He stopped and turned to look back at Jim, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear—a familiar gesture. Somehow Jim felt the sadness and loneliness coming off the younger man in waves. His lips started to move and Jim took a step forward, but Blair shook his head. 

“Sandburg!” Jim shouted as his Guide turned and stepped through the closed door. Jim slammed up against it a second later, both fists pounding against the wood at eye level. “Sandburg! Don’t leave me! Don’t you dare!” 

Dropping his head and hands, Jim turned and slid down the door, resting his back against it. There was no thought of following his Guide. Looking around with dazed eyes, Jim’s heart sank. Why would Sandburg stay here? His stuff was packed, almost out the door; his Sentinel had kicked him out—again. This wasn’t his home anymore. Oh and yeah, the big one… his Blessed Protector had let him die. Why the hell wouldn’t he move on to greener pastures? The only thing that might hold him here was his ashes in the stupid funerary urn Simon had insisted on leaving. 

Glaring balefully at the offending item, Jim suddenly turned his head and listened.

On the other side of the door, he heard … music. It sounded like the same song Sandburg had been head-banging to when he’d barged into his office that first time. Jim’s head came up slowly and he whispered Blair’s name. The music went on for another few seconds and then drifted away. 

Okay then. Jim got to his feet and smoothed his pants down. Sandburg wouldn’t stay here, he obviously didn’t feel welcome anymore. So, Jim would go somewhere else… somewhere the kid would like and then he’d come and things would be like they were before. He could do this.

Looking around with narrowed eyes, he started listing things in his head. Good thing he’d labeled each box carefully. Grab a couple of his and all of Sandburg’s, throw them in the back of the truck and hit the road. Which way? Didn’t matter, he’d take the Chief’s… urn. For the first time, Jim let his eyes rest on it for more than a second. 

Sandburg would’ve liked it. Nothing fancy, just his name and a date engraved on one side of the smooth brass. Letting his eyes slide away from the date, Jim straightened his shoulders and started for the stairs. He had work to do. He couldn’t let his Guide down again. Not ever again.

*-*


	3. Chapter 3

*-*

 

When Jim noticed the gas light blinking angrily, it was way past noon. He’d been driving in a daze for hours and really wasn’t sure where he was. Resolving to take the next exit, he gave a strangled laugh at the sign. _Peru – 3 miles._ Poetic justice he figured and wondered why he’d never heard of a town in Washington named Peru. Surely Sandburg would’ve said something. _Maybe he had, it’s not like you listened to the kid when he went into lecture mode, is it?_

The town wasn’t big enough to be called a town, but it had a gas station and that’s all Jim cared about. Looking around absently as he pumped the gas, he figured it was more of a touristy place, almost deserted this time of year. Apparently there was a lake nearby as cottage rental signs were stuck all over the gas station windows and in the little bits of dead grass that divided the parking lot from the street. Rolling his neck to stretch stiff muscles, he hoped they had some kind of restaurant here. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. 

“Got two places you can eat.” The kid at the register said in response to Jim’s question as he slowly counted out his change for the gas and a bottle of water. “There’s the fancy steakhouse a couple blocks down.” He handed Jim the cash and grinned up at him. “Course it’s for the tourists and you don’t look the type.” He looked at Jim speculatively. “Food’s okay, pricey though.”

“And the other place?” Jim grunted and shoved the money in his pocket. “That a tourist place too?”

“Nope.” The kid pointed down the road. “We all eat there. _Mama’s Diner._ Good food, nothing fancy.”

“How far is it?” Jim twisted around to look for a lake and turned back, one eyebrow raised in question. 

“Yeah, um...” The kid nodded handing Jim his receipt. “Keep going down Main Street. Maybe five miles past town, the lake’ll be on your left. Stay on this road and you can’t miss it.” He pointed vaguely toward the front windows.

Jim nodded his thanks and went back out to the truck; inside he opened the bottle and drained half the water before setting it aside and starting the engine. Mama’s Diner it is.

If the geese hadn’t erupted from the lake en mass, squawking and flying low across the road in a flurry of feathers and noise, he would never have seen the house. Slamming on the brakes, he skidded to a stop and stared at the old, grey Victorian monstrosity dripping with gingerbread trim, facing him from the other side of the lake. Framed between rows of mature pines and cottages on this side of the lake, he could only see the top floor, but it looked like something out of a story book. A slow grin spread across his face. Sandburg would go ape-shit over it.

With a glance in the rear view mirror, Jim decided lunch could wait as he pulled back out on the road. He needed to see that house. With any luck it was one of the rentals and he could get it immediately. 

_For Sale or Rent._ Jim grabbed his cellphone from the passenger seat and called the realtor right then. She seemed surprised he was interested in that house and at first tried to steer him toward one of the newer, modern cottages, but finally gave in and agreed to meet him there in half an hour. 

Plowing through who knew how many years of dead leaves, Jim made his way to the back, following the wrap-around porch which ended abruptly at the back edge of the house, sparing only a short glance at the lake. Instead of the deck he expected, a dilapidated closed-in porch covered the back entrance. That would come off first thing, he thought. He’d bring the porch the rest of the way around and build a deck off of it. Sandburg could hang out and get a tan. Maybe they could have a cook-out next summer and have the guys up. 

Sandburg would be so excited, he could see the kid bouncing up the steps and dancing along the new porch talking a mile a minute. Pulling his hands out of jacket pockets, Jim lifted a leg to step up and check out the closed in porch.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Flushing at being caught unaware, Jim turned slowly and examined the woman striding toward him. He hadn’t even heard her car. “The wood’s rotten, hell the whole damn back porch is ready to fall in.” She laughed and held out a hand walking toward him. “Hi, I’m Marjorie Philips. You must be Detective Ellison.”

“Yes.” Belatedly Jim shook her hand and gestured toward the house. “I’d like to rent it for a month or two maybe with the intent of buying it.”

She gave him a sideways glance and hummed under her breath. “You haven’t even seen inside yet.” Jingling the keys off the end of a finger, she started back around the front expecting Jim to follow her. “This old place has been on the market for a long time, no one left to take care of it. Old Mrs. Hudson’s been in the nursing home since her son died. It’s set empty since then too, I reckon. Mostly.” 

Jim followed her, listening and looking, not bothering to interrupt the steady flow of information. Naturally the front door was stuck and Jim had to give it a couple good shoves with his shoulder to get it open. Wrinkling his nose in distaste at the stale, dead air, Jim forced himself to step inside. Looking around he sighed. It would take a lot of work and nothing would make it look modern, but the view was worth it. The joy on Sandburg’s face would be worth it. Heck, he’d even put the kid’s name on the deed so he’d never have to worry about having a home again.

Marjorie waved both hands in front of her face trying to move the cloud of dust that rose when a gust of wind blew in handful of leaves. “You sure I couldn’t interest you in a nice 2 bedroom cottage on the water?” She asked forlornly taking another step inside. “This place is a hazard.”

My partner, Blair… he was—injured—in the line of duty… anyway, I think he’d like it here. To recuperate, you know? I can do the repairs.” He drifted into the room grimacing at the dust-covered old fashioned furniture and wallpaper. “Clear some of this junk out and refinish the floors, it’ll be nice.”

“There’s a cleaning service, not too busy this time of year I imagine…” Marjorie took another step inside, one hand still holding on tight to the slightly open door. “… you could get someone over here in a day or so.”

“It’s pretty out-dated.” Jim walked over to the fireplace and leaned over to look in. “The bones seem solid enough though.” He said absently and with a glance at the stairs crossed the dining room and went into the kitchen. “Is there a chimney sweep around here?” Marjorie shrugged and watched him look around from the door.

The once black and white linoleum was yellowed and the countertops were a joke. “The cabinets are solid oak, just need a new coat of varnish.” He opened a door and peered inside. A few dusty white teacups were stacked haphazardly in the corner. He let the door close and looked around.

Marjorie eventually followed him as far as the kitchen doorway and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “The electricity’s still on and the water. Too hard to get someone out here to turn it back on once it’s been turned off. But everything is so old, not sure if it even works.” She explained. 

Jim looked at her in askance. “You know, you seem more like you’re trying to warn me away than make an easy sale.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “There’s a reason it’s been empty all this time. I’d feel … irresponsible if I just let you move in without a warning.” She looked away and hefted her purse on her shoulder. “People… kids mostly… they’ve seen … things… lights… sounds….”

“You mean it’s haunted?” Jim laughed. Like that was a deterrent for him or Blair. “I don’t—”

“Look.” Marjorie interrupted him sharply. “It doesn’t matter if you believe or not.” She studied his face. “I realize you’re a big-city detective, not afraid of anything. But… but there’s _things_ even you can’t explain.” He couldn’t remember the Chief going on about ghosts, but he’d bet his last dollar the kid would dance around in circles at the chance to interact with one.

“Look lady.” Jim stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. I like it, my partner will love it. I’m willing to move in today and fix it up. At the least you’ll have it repaired and at the most you’ll have a sale. Are you sure you want to argue about this?”

“I just…” She sighed and shook her head at his determined face. “Fine. Okay whatever. Come on back to the office and I’ll draw up the paperwork.” She turned and led the way back out to the front door. “I expect you’ll not stay here more than a week anyway.”

“We’ll see.” Jim ignored her and flipped the sink faucet on. It coughed and spit but finally a stream of water shot out. “Good water pressure.” Flipping off and on a light just to make sure, he decided to buy some stronger light bulbs while he was in town.

“What’s that?” Marjorie called from the porch. Jim made his way slowly back through the house. 

“I said there’s good water pressure for being on a lake.”

“Well, it’s late in the season. Only two or three families winter over and the rest are rentals. Most folks spend winter in town. Or Florida.” She cracked a laugh and went to her car. “You can follow me back. Office is just beside Mama’s.” She looked him up and down. “Grocery store’s across the street. Guess you’ll be needing some supplies.”

“Yeah.” He agreed and got in the truck. A few.

 

*-*


	4. Chapter 4

*-*

 

Forgetting how quickly gossip spread through a small town, Jim realized the other diners were watching him eat and realized they must be curious. He’d barely finished the meatloaf special and pushed his plate back when people seemed to find a reason to walk by his table and say hello and welcome him to town. At first he was merely polite, giving none of them a reason to linger, but when the waitress came back with apple pie alamode and asked about his partner – Blair was it? I heard he was injured? – Jim found himself uncharacteristically chatty. Somehow it was easy to talk about Sandburg.

“Everybody loves him.” Jim smiled. “He has this way of listening when people talk, like you’re the only thing in the world.” Ducking his head shyly, he toyed with the napkin in his lap. “You’ll be telling him your life story before you know it.”

By the time he’d told a couple very censored anecdotes, several people had gathered around. He stared at his plate while they asked about Blair’s injuries and why he’d stopped in their town and boy it was good to have new people, especially a detective and if he needed anything, just call any one of them. Looking at the wave of faces, he felt embarrassed and hurriedly took out his wallet, throwing some cash on the table. 

One motherly looking woman reached out and patted his arm. “Blair sounds like a real nice fella. You both’ll be welcome in town, but about the house…” Glancing at an older man in overalls leaning against the wall, she bit her lip and shook her head. “… maybe you shoulda asked around a bit before settling … there.”

“No.” Annoyance flashed in his eyes. If these people were going to start that whole haunted thing again he was gonna…

“Reckon a man can live where he wants.” The old man in overalls straightened and nodded at Jim before walking out, taking a cap out of his back pocket and pulling it down over his eyes.

“I do. I love the house. My partner, Sandburg…” Choking on the name, Jim swallowed and went on. “You know he was riding along with me for his dissertation, he was never meant to be in harm’s way…” Shaking his head at their understanding faces he pushed away from the table. “He should’ve gotten his degree and been safe in a college somewhere or … or out on a dig. Not trying to …” Shaking his head again, Jim walked out the door ignoring the sympathetic pats on his arm and shoulder. He had some shopping to do.

-*-

It wasn’t until the bread aisle that Jim broke down. There were too many choices. A dozen different white breads which he ignored because his Guide had forbidden them, but there were also a few different kinds of whole wheat and none of them were the organic brand the Chief approved of. And what difference did it make now? He wasn’t a Sentinel anymore.

He must have groaned out loud, because a nervous looking stock boy was suddenly peering up at him. “Help ya mister?” He mumbled fiddling with the dirty apron wrapped around his waist. 

Jim mutely held out two different loaves. “What’s the difference between stone ground and whole berry?”

“Um.” The kid shrugged. “They both taste like crap man.” Craning his head around first, the kid leaned in close to whisper loudly. “You should totally stop at the bakery. My mom makes the best bread in the world.” He pointed down the street and hurried past Jim to the end of the aisle. Looking back he nodded once and pointed again before disappearing.

Jim stared after him a moment and carefully put both loaves back on the shelf before pushing the cart on wondering if a place this small had granola. Or algae shakes. Blair was going to want his disgusting algae shakes.

 

*-*

When he came out of the grocery store, Jim realized two things. It was almost dark and he’d left all of his belongings and more importantly, Sandburg’s boxes in the back of the truck where anyone could’ve helped themselves. Finding room to wedge the three bags of groceries and a carton of beer, Jim pulled out his keys and started home. Home. Shaking his head in sudden doubt, he started the truck and pulled out onto the street. What if the kid didn’t like the house? What if he didn’t come? What if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life?

Snorting mirthlessly, he realized that couldn’t happen. He’d already committed that crime. Losing his Guide couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten. Driving carefully through nonexistent traffic, Jim wondered vaguely why Incacha hadn’t showed by now to slap some sense into him.  
He fiddled a bit with the radio but reached the driveway before he found anything he wanted to listen to. 

Sitting in the truck for a long moment, Jim stared at the house. It was dark and silent, Sandburg would call it brooding, but it was just an empty old house. Soon it would be filled with laughter and crazy music, alive and happy once more. Shaking his head, Jim got out and carried in the groceries first, flipping on each light as he passed.

It took a bit longer to get all the boxes upstairs. Carefully stacking the kid’s stuff in the second bedroom, he dumped his suitcase on the dresser in the bigger bedroom and had a sneezing fit when he was enveloped in a cloud of dust.

When everything was inside, Jim shoved the door closed and paused with his hand on the deadbolt. Common sense said lock it—but he ended up leaving it unlocked. What if Sandburg came in the middle of the night and couldn’t get in. Remembering his Guide, he took the stairs two at a time and strode into the kid’s room. He’d get going in here right after the kitchen was clean. The real estate people should’ve kept the house clean if they really wanted to sell it, he thought dragging one finger through the dust on a short chest of drawers. 

He hefted the box with the masks up on the bed and pried the tape loose. Digging around inside he pulled out the smallest mask and tried to fit his face into a matching fearful grimace. Still hated the damn ugly things but they were Sandburg’s and therefore a place would be made for them.

But not before the room was ready for him. Dropping the mask back in the box, Jim opened another box and saw Sandburg’s favorite sweater bundled on top. With a sharp gasp, he dug both hands into the weave and pulled it out. Pressing it against his face, he breathed in deep and made a small sound that he would have termed a whimper in anyone else. Without his senses, he couldn’t be sure but he thought there was the slightest trace of the Chief’s favorite after-shave. Pressing harder, he let the sweater muffle the broken sobs that wanted to overtake him.

When he was calm again, Jim wandered back out into the hall and peered into the bathroom. It was iffy if he’d come out cleaner than when he went in, but a hot shower and then a good night’s sleep sounded really good. Sponge baths, even from perky little Cassie didn’t count, especially when he couldn’t remember a single one.

Later he dragged the bedspread off the bed and dumped it in the corner, taking most of the dust with it. It only took a minute to change the sheets to clean ones he’d found in the hall closet. A bit musty, but they were clean and worn smooth. The pillow was filled with feathers and mainly flat, but Jim was too tired to care at this point so he just beat it a few times with his fist. Maybe he should’ve grabbed some of those painkillers on the way out. He was too tired to go back to the kitchen for Tylenol. Pulling a faded wedding-circle quilt up around his ears, he was asleep in less than a minute.

*-*


	5. Chapter 5

*-*

A heavy thud and a muffled exclamation had Jim sitting straight up in bed, pushing aside the blanket and reaching for his gun before he knew it. When his hand slid across bare wood, he remembered the gun was still wrapped in a sweatshirt and buried deep in his suitcase. _Shit._

He stilled, listening at the silence before sliding out of bed and through the open door in his bare feet. Unable to rely on Sentinel senses anymore, he waited in the dark, ears straining before slipping into the other room. With a gasp, his hand tightened on the doorframe and the other reached for his gun – still in the suitcase. The box he’d opened earlier was unpacked and the largest mask was unwrapped and lying on the floor face up.

“Hey!” He shouted and looked behind him out into the hall. There was only the nightlight, no noise anywhere. For the first time he regretted the loss of his Sentinel abilities. “Who’s there?” Silence answered him. Maybe he should’ve forced the lock on the attic door and checked it out in daylight. “Sandburg? Is that you Chief?”

Not taking his eyes off the box, Jim fumbled behind him for the light switch and blinked at the sudden light. There was no place for anyone to hide except under the bed. Wishing for a flashlight, he leaned over and found only a handful of dust bunnies. 

Shaking his head in annoyance he backed out of the room and checked the hallway, the bathroom and finally tiptoed down the steps to do the same downstairs.  
Finally convinced he’d been dreaming, Jim stumbled back to bed and sat down rubbing his face hard before lying on top of the covers. Pulling the other pillow close he buried his face and ignoring the musty smell, broke into sobs. 

Sometime later he jerked awake shivering in the damp night air. He didn’t remember opening a window but he must have and because one was open somewhere. Pulling at the old quilt, he rolled over and blinked his eyes open and blinked again. Blair was standing beside the bed looking down at him with both hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, a slight frown stitched between his eyes. Neither spoke. Jim tried. His mouth worked but nothing came out. He tried to reach up, but his hands were clenched in the quilt and he couldn’t get his fingers to let go. When he managed to open his fingers and look back up, Blair was gone.

_A dream._ It was just a dream. _No._ The Guide was _here._ He known Sandburg would show up sooner or later and he had. Getting comfortable, Jim resolved to stay awake until Blair came back and then he’d find out what the hell his partner was up to. 

The next time he woke, the sun was shining through the thin curtains.

*-*

Three sleepless nights later, Jim hunched under the quilt and tried to make himself comfortable in the far corner of Sandburg’s room. He’d turned the heat up, but the old furnace was going to take some work to get it fully functional before winter. At this rate he’d freeze by the first snowfall. Maybe he could get a cord of wood, drag the couch close to the fireplace and sleep in the living room. That wouldn’t do for the Chief, he’d need more than thermal underwear and an extra sweater to survive with just a wood fire. He’d have to get the furnace fixed before it got much colder.

He must have dozed off because when he became aware of _something,_ the moon had risen and was shining brightly through the window. Blair was standing just inside the doorway, looking around the room, eyes narrowed in confusion as if he wasn’t sure where he was. 

Jim opened his mouth and took in a silent breath, forcing himself not to move or make a sound. He kept his eyes on Blair and had to clench them shut when he realized he could see the open doorway behind Blair— _through_ Blair. 

When his heart stopped thudding against his chest, Jim peeked through half open lashes. Blair had walked closer to the bed and was looking down at the masks arranged neatly on the old iron bed and the frown deepened as his head cocked to side. Fingers twitching, almost reaching to touch, Blair’s hand dropped back to his side again and was still. 

Blair’s head snapped around and their eyes met. For just one second he saw recognition in his Guide’s eyes and the start of a smile before Jim was struggling to his feet, the old quilt falling to the floor. 

“Please.” Jim licked dry lips. “Please Sandburg… Guide… don’t leave… I…” One hand reached out to touch Blair, just touch his shoulder, Jim took another step. 

Blair’s smile faltered and he stepped back into the doorway and out of reach. His head turned suddenly to the right, toward the stairs and the rest of his body followed.

“No, wait!” Jim forced himself forward, grabbing for Blair. “Sandburg! Get your ass back here!” But by the time Jim had taken four steps and was in the dim hallway, Blair was gone. He collapsed against the wall and slid down, letting his legs splay out in front of him. “Blair, please come back. Don’t leave me! You can’t… you promised.” Jim’s voice broke on the last word and he dropped his head into his hands, clenching his eyes against the sudden sting.

“I will never leave you Sentinel. Never.” A whisper of sound and Jim’s head came up and he jerked clumsily to his feet.

“Sandburg! Where are you!” Starting for the stairs, Jim shuffled forward, one hand on the wall and one hand out to clutch the rickety banister. “Sandburg!” Halfway down, he stumbled over the torn carpet and slid the rest of the way, bouncing painfully down the steps to land in a heap at the bottom. “Ow fuck!” He shouted, grabbing at his knee. “Shit! Shit! SHIT!” 

The only response was a flickering in the fluorescent light over the stove in the kitchen. Jim struggled to his feet and cautiously put some weight on his right leg. With a sharp gasp, he grabbed the banister with both hands and breathed through the pain. It was probably only twisted, a sprain not a break, but now he had to make it the old-fashioned refrigerator and hope there was something resembling ice cubes in the tiny freezer. 

Looking around for anything to lean on, a crutch to get him across the room, Jim hopped forward and flipped the light switch. No crutch and no Guide. With a deep sigh, he hop-stumbled along the wall grabbing onto every piece of furniture he passed. White-faced and forcing the sharp stabs of nausea down, Jim finally made it to the fridge and leaned against it. 

The old refrigerator was at least a foot shorter than he was so he got a close-up view of thick dust nearly burying the bowl of plastic fruit sitting dead center. With a shake of his head, he rolled carefully to the side to pull open the freezer door and bent over to peer inside. No ice tray but there was an ancient bag of frozen broccoli or Brussels sprouts. Whatever. The worn picture on the front was some kind of green vegetable. 

Grabbing it with one hand and jerking one of the old kitchen chairs towards him, Jim collapsed down with a whoosh of relief. Gently laying the bag on his knee, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. This is not a dream. He was not dreaming therefore… 

He gulped and straightened up, eyes darting around the room. The light in the other room was bright enough but the dim light over the stove didn’t do much to chase away the shadows in the big kitchen. He tried to remember if Blair had cast a shadow earlier and couldn’t.

“Sandburg?” His lips shaped the word, but there was no sound, merely a slight puff of air. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and for the first time in his life he regretted the loss of his Sentinel senses. “Dear God…” He prayed and stopped. Right now, he wasn’t sure if he wanted Sandburg here or not. 

Here, definitely here. He decided some minutes later. He couldn’t go on much longer without his Guide. They were meant to be together. Sentinel and Guide. No matter how irritating Sandburg could be, Jim needed his Guide.

“Don’t scare me like this Chief.” Jim balanced the bag on his knee and wrapped both hands around himself. “You’re not a ghost. You can’t be a ghost because you’re not dead. So stop playing games and get in here.” Jim looked around and waited, straining his ears in the silence. “Ok fine. I’m sorry. Ok? I said it. Now come out.” Nothing.

“Fine. Ok you know what? I’m just gonna sit here until you stop acting like a child and decide to talk.” Jim huffed, feeling braver by the minute. Squinting at his watch he grinned at the time. “Two o’clock in the morning Sandburg. Want to guess who’ll stay awake the longest?”

Jim jerked awake, knocking the mostly melted bag of vegetables to the floor with a splat. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at his watch and rubbed at the wet spot on his knee. Ten after five. How had he possibly spent three hours sleeping in a kitchen chair? Flexing his leg carefully, he thought he could try standing and forced himself up. Maybe there was an ace bandage in his truck, in the first-aid kit under the seat. 

Hobbling slowly, he made it to the backdoor. Locked. Shaking his head at himself, he realized he hadn’t checked it last night. Peering through the dirty, smeared glass, he guessed it was at least a couple hours until dawn. The light didn’t even carry to the other side of the tiny porch. He’d checked out the small space the first day and found the realtor was right. The boards were cracked and rotten, that floor would never hold his weight. He’d have to tear out the whole thing so he’d locked it up again until he could find a lumberyard.

By the time he made it to the front door, Jim was shaking and wishing he’d made coffee before leaving the kitchen. Looking back it seemed a mile away. Might as well go on out to the truck and get the first-aid kit since he was here. The porch light was out – of course it was. Jim carefully maneuvered down the few steps, nearly dragging his leg along behind him. It didn’t hurt as much as it had when he’d left the hospital. He could do this.

It wasn’t until he was leaning against the truck, one white-knuckled hand clutching the handle, that he realized he might not have the keys in his pocket. Closing his eyes in a brief prayer, he patted his pocket and felt the lump with gratitude and relief. 

Apparently the kid only showed up at night. He’d wrap the knee, get a little breakfast and start cleaning the kitchen. Small things he could do while balanced on one leg. His knee would be okay in a couple days and then he could finally get the place ready for his Guide. It was so filthy now, it was a wonder he’d shown up at all.

*-*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be a short and sweet fic, straight to the point, but nooooooo Brumeier wanted creepy so here we are with the creepy and more chapters.

*-*

Running from the truck, skipping up the steps, three at a time, Jim barely made it onto the porch before the rain went from a heavy sprinkle to coming down in sheets. Pulling down the jacket, he’d had over his head, Jim thudded to a stop and reached for his gun and mumbled a string of curse words under his breath. _Upstairs in the suitcase._ The front door stood wide open. 

The rain had darkened an already dark night. From where he stood, Jim could see there wasn’t a light on, even the tiny glow from the stove was dark. Cocking his head to the side, he strained to hear any noise—nothing. After listening for a minute or two in tense silence, Jim looked back at the truck, almost obscured by the driving rain. There was a flashlight in the glove box and a bigger one under the seat. Whoever had left the door open the door had come and gone. Probably.

Still on alert, he stepped over the threshold and felt around on the wall for the light switch. Flicking it off and on again a couple times, he cursed softly and determined to put a flashlight in every room first thing in the morning. Staying near the walls, he made it to the next room and found those lights out as well. The storm must have knocked out the electricity—which still didn’t explain the front door standing wide open, but …

Racking his memory back to the hundreds of papers he’d signed, he thought maybe there was a fuse box in the basement. As quietly as possible, he went back to the front door and pushed it closed as far as it would go. It wouldn’t latch without a good shove, but it would keep the wind and rain mostly out until he could make sure he was alone.

Pausing at the bottom of the steps, thought about going up after his gun, but he was almost convinced he was alone. He’d need a flashlight to get the fire going if it was more than a fuse, and maybe hunt around for some candles. Did he even have matches? Grumbling lightly at his lack of foresight, he went to the dark kitchen and fumbled around the walls until he found the basement door. 

The knob turned easily under his hand and he could have sworn it was locked the first day when he’d checked everywhere. The key was in the fruit bowl on top of the refrigerator. When the lights were back on, he’d check and make sure it was still there, but for now he had a fuse box to find.

Feeling each step before putting his full weight on it, Jim crept down the stairs into cold darkness. There must be some ambient light upstairs, because now he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. At the bottom of the steps he felt to the right and found some shelves. He took a step sideways and swept his hand along each shelf. 

Jackpot! There was a flashlight on the third shelf. Praying the batteries weren’t dead, he snapped it on. The light wasn’t good, but it was enough that he could pick his way through piles of junk to the opposite wall where the fuse box stood open.

This was looking more and more like vandals or kids fooling around. He found a missing fuse on the floor and quickly replaced it. The furnace started up with a creak and a groan and he saw a dim square of light at the top of the stairs. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jim decided he was too tired to look at the junk littering the place tonight and started up the steps. Stopping halfway up, he reversed and went back to replace the flashlight on the shelf.

With working lights, it was a matter of minutes before he had a fire going to take off the chill. He’d mention the door tomorrow if went to Mama’s for breakfast. There wasn’t a police force as such, you had to call the State Highway Patrol for any real trouble. Slinging his damp jacket across the back of a kitchen chair, Jim dug around in the fridge for a beer. Only 3 left in the case. 

Stacking them beside each other on the otherwise empty shelf, he tossed the case toward the garbage can. He’d have to get that back porch fixed soon, it was too much of a hassle to carry trash through the house and out the front. Swinging the bottle in one hand, he went back into the living room and pulled the couch a good two feet closer to the fire. For some reason he was still cold, must have taken a chill from the rain.

Staring at the flames and sipping the beer, Jim slowly relaxed and let his eyes slip shut. 

*-*

 

A muted thud woke him and he jerked awake, knocking the almost empty beer bottle from between his legs. Setting it upright on the floor as he got to his feet, Jim headed for the stairs. It might be the Chief again, knocking his masks around.

“Chief!” Jim shouted as he scrambled up the stairs, not bothering with the switch at the bottom. “Sandburg! Is that you?” 

The upstairs was dark and silent, but Jim raced down the hall to the kid’s room. Fingers slipped along the wall until the light was shining and Jim’s heart fell. Nothing had been touched. Walking over the bed, he ran one finger down the side of a mask. “Come on Chief. Stop playing games and get your butt back here.”

Raking a hand through his hair, Jim took another look around before turning off the light and standing in the doorway. It was probably late enough to go to bed, but it was still too cold to sleep up here. Maybe something fell off the dresser in his room, he should probably check on the gun anyway.

Two steps into his room and he heard another muffled thump from above. Turning on his heel, Jim headed for the attic. There had been no key for the shiny new padlock and Jim was afraid he was going to have to saw the lock off, but when he reached the door, Jim stopped in surprise. 

The shiny new padlock lay open on the floor and the latch was thrown back. With hardly a thought, Jim jerked the door open and looked around for a light switch. Halfway up, there was a long string hanging down, slightly swinging.

He went up the stairs quickly, slowing only when his head came above floor level. The attic seemed to cover the whole house in one big room, but the single bulb didn’t reach to the far corners. One big, filthy, cluttered room. Spider webs and dust covered everything, even the floor. There were no footsteps, so it must have been an animal or something on the roof. Maybe a box fell off a stack. There was no telling.

As he was turning to start back down, a puff of fresh air hit him in the face. Why on earth would someone leave a window open in the attic? Raccoons, rats, mice, birds, squirrels, hell anything could have gotten in. Pulling himself up, Jim followed the fresh air to the back wall, leaving a trail of footsteps through the thick dust on the floor. 

A small window stood open, no screen or anything, but Jim only had eyes for the large box underneath. Old, yellowed tape had been pulled off and lay in curls on the floor—on top of the dust. The flaps were open, the contents in shadow. No other box had been disturbed.

With shaking hands, he pulled a flap back and tipped the box toward the light, trying to see what was inside. He was expecting a nest of animals, but a book fell out, dumping a few yellowed newspaper clippings. A larger book slid from one side of the box to the other, on top of a pile of jumbled clothes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim caught a flash of movement outside and looked up in time to see the back of someone walking away from the front yard, hunched over in overalls and a pulled down cap. Something familiar about him tugged at Jim’s memory. The rain had slowed from a steady drumbeat on the roof back to a light sprinkle sometime while he’d been in the house. 

Bending over, he picked up the book and scooped up the clippings, shoving them in the back. The cover was torn and the book felt like it might crumble in his hands. He flipped through the pages and instead of a book, he was holding a journal with an entry only every few pages in faded ink. There wasn’t enough light to read a single word. Peering into the box, he reached down and pulled out the other book—an old picture album.

Winding his way back through the stacks of boxes, Jim forgot about the open window and stumped down the stairs, fingers, stroking the moldy cover of the journal. At the bottom, he hesitated before replacing the padlock, leaving it hanging open before continuing downstairs.

Seated on the couch once again after throwing a few chunks of wood on the fire and a new bottle of beer, Jim reached for the picture album. It was old and thick and he rubbed the dust off the front with his shirt sleeve. Balancing it on his knee, he undid the decorative lock and opened the cover. Turning a page, and then another and another, Jim raced through the whole album before slamming it closed and thrusting it away.

Photographs were crowded onto every page, the old fashioned kind, that had those little black tips you had to paste the corners down with. Maybe twenty pages of photographs and every single one of them blank.

Not blank like maybe the solvents used to make old photographs had faded away, they weren’t that old. Just… blank. Empty squares staring back at him. Staring at the album, Jim had an unreasonable desire to toss it into the fire and realized he’d been wiping his palms on his jeans. They were covered in some kind of grimy, greasy residue. 

Grabbing his beer before he kicked it over, Jim stood and picked up the album looking around. It felt creepy and weird and he didn’t want it near him, but he didn’t want to go all the way back up to the attic either. Finally, he sat it on the table near the door and went to wash his hands.

When he came back, he stared at the journal lost in thought. Maybe he was just too tired. Before he sat down on the couch, he moved it over to the table with the album and switched the light off. Suddenly tired, he stretched out on the couch and pulled the heavy afghan over him. In the morning, he’d look at it in the morning.

*-*


	7. Chapter 7

*-*

 

The morning sun woke Jim. Stretching lazily, he decided he was getting too old to sleep on the couch with his boots on. The fire was out and the furnace was barely chugging along, so he needed to get up and bring in some of the firewood he’d stacked on the front porch. Good thing he’d draped a tarp over it, maybe some would be dry enough to burn.

Getting up seemed inevitable, so he sighed and sat up rolling his neck to get the kinks out.  


 _Door. Attic. Window. Box. Book. Album._ It all came back in a rush and he twisted around to look, but the table by the front door was empty. Huh.

Scratching his scalp with one hand, Jim tossed the afghan haphazardly over the back of the couch and went to look closer. Nope. Nothing on the table, nothing on the floor. Maybe the whole thing had been a dream. Shrugging it off, Jim clumped up the stairs to take a shower. Out of curiosity he walked past the bathroom to the attic door and shook his head. It was padlocked shut so the whole thing must have been a dream. Damn, maybe he shouldn’t have ate that handful of gas station burritos right before coming home and falling asleep.

Examining his face in the mirror, he decided he didn’t need to shave today and besides that, his clothes weren’t that dirty after all. Dressed again, he went downstairs, wandered into the kitchen to stare moodily into the refrigerator and tried to conjure something for breakfast. With a sigh, he turned and his eye caught a movement outside.

Unable to take a full breath, he stumbled closer to the window on rubbery knees. Sandburg was sitting out back in one of the plastic lawn chairs in broad daylight, album on his lap slowly turning the pages. He paused now and then to lean closer to study a photograph before going on, sometimes tracing his finger across one. Jim sucked in a sharp breath. That album was blank, how was the Chief seeing anything but blank photographs? How was… “Shit.” 

Then he was racing through the house, out the front door and around back laughing and shouting Sandburg’s name. He crashed around the side of the house, slipping in wet leaves and going down on one knee still shouting – _“Sandburg!”_ – in a strangled voice. At least it was his good knee. 

When he looked up, the laughter died in his throat. The backyard was empty. No sign of the kid or the album. Feeling wetness soaking his knee, Jim got to his feet and went over to the lawn chair. Half afraid the album would be sitting on it, he breathed a sigh of relief when it was empty. 

Great. Not only was he dreaming, now he was hallucinating. _No._ Sandburg _was_ here. Rather, had been here. Obviously, he was gone now. 

Taking a deep breath, Jim smelled smoke. Taking another deep breath and looking around to see if he had any near neighbors – must be smoke from someone’s chimney, he saw someone had recently burned something in his brick fire-pit. Surely, nothing could have burned last night in all that rain, and he would have seen someone this morning…

Standing over the ashes, Jim kicked at a blackened husk of something. A piece of leather attached to an old-fashioned padlock skittered out of the ashes. Squatting down with a puzzled frown on his face, Jim poked through the ashes with one of the kindling sticks piled nearby. Someone had burned the album. Someone had burned the album between the time he’d seen the kid through the kitchen window and he’d made it to the back yard at a dead run. Three minutes tops, if that long. It wasn’t possible.

Jim sat back on his heels and let the air whoosh out between pursed lips. Well it was official—he was either hallucinating or already around the bend. Maybe some of that sedative was somehow still in his system after three weeks. That was the only rational answer he could come up with. It was either real or it wasn’t. Not like he was going back to that hospital where they’d tried to kill him in the first place anyway.

With one last look, Jim started back around the side of the house. Remembering his dream, he looked up toward the attic and saw the tiny window under the eaves was closed tight.

Once more on the porch, one rocker moved slowly back and forth. Gaping in surprise, he saw the journal from last night on the wide arm. Inching closer, he touched the moldering cover with the tips of his fingers. It was real. . Most of the cover and the first several pages were torn, missing, or destroyed by water damage. The bottom right corner of every page was gone as well; dark brown water stains around the missing edges. It was the same journal.

He picked it up and squinted at the cover, angling it toward the sunlight. The few letters left undamaged weren’t enough to make out a name. “AND G” he read aloud. “Andy G?” he mused. Maybe he’d try and read a bit after he got the fire going and found something for breakfast besides a beer. When questions of _how_ and _why_ tried to surface, Jim shoved them ruthlessly down. 

*-*

After a quick breakfast of toast – the last two heels of bread – Jim stoked up the fire again and decided to take a quick look at the journal before heading into town for groceries—and a dozen flashlights, he chuckled.

The first few pages were heavily water damaged, but he could pick out a faint word here and there, enough to realize the writer was a guy in basic training. From the last two numbers of a date, he thought it must be WWI.

_“The Cap’n told us at dinner last night that we were going to represent America in the Great War and he expected to be proud of us. Then he laughed and said the Sarge would beat soldiering into us until we was something to be proud of — if he had to.”_

Jim chuckled and reached for his cup of lukewarm coffee. Instant. He’d had to make a run back to Cascade or at least some other city to find some good ground beans. He sorely missed Sandburg’s custom blends. Making a face, he shuddered and set the cup back on the small table. Better than nothing, but not by much. Shaking his head at himself, he turned back to the journal. Poor Andy was having a hard time.

 _“Last night I heard Rafe crying in his bunk,”_ He read out-loud and snorted at the coincidence. Well not much, Rafe wasn’t a common name, but not all that uncommon either. It would be worse for someone named John or Jack or ha even JIM. They’d see their name everywhere, but it wouldn’t be weird at all. There was a damaged spot and he skipped forward to where he could make out the words. _“… at least I stopped crying for my mother years ago.”_ Poor kid, musta lost his mom when he was young too. 

Jim had lost his own mother when he was young and had never quite gotten over it. He knew his life wouldn’t have turned out like it had if he’d had a mother around to soften his father, soften him. Yeah kid, losing your mom is about as bad as it gets.

Turning the page, he read on. _“I promised myself I would tell the truth here. It’s harder than I thought it would be though, seeing the truth in black and white. I started this journal to help me through training and maybe my whole tour. If I come back I can show it to my grandchildren and maybe turn it into a real book people might read.”_ Jim snorted. The kid must have made it back or at least the journal made it back. He had packed the belongings of a lost man more than once. Deciding what was disposed of and what was sent back to the family.

Shaking off his morose mood, Jim took another sip of coffee. Bleh.

_“The plain unvarnished truth in black and white. Or rather blue and white… I’m not sure I can. I’ve lied for so long, to everyone especially myself … damn Rafe for his cry-baby sobbing.”_

Let it go kid. You’ve got to learn to toughen up some, get your head in the game. From what Jim remembered watching documentaries and reading, World War I was no picnic. A lot of good men, boys really, were lost through stupidity, poor equipment and lousy leadership. The journal hadn’t said how long Andy had been in basic training or how close he was to being shipped overseas, but Jim hoped the kid had more time to prepare.

_“Well here goes nothing. My mother… damn. I just realized once I write it down it will be …”_

The ink had smeared and ran together so Jim couldn’t tell what it was going to be. True? Real? Something along those lines. Jim looked up and found an hour had passed. He’d spent more time remembering his own time in Basic than reading the few pages he’d managed to decipher.

Looking back down at the journal, he smoothed the pages as if that would help. He wanted to know what happened to Andy’s mom before he went to the store. Somehow, in the space of a single morning, he’d started to care about the kid in the journal. 

Several lines were water damaged, leaving only partial sentences. _“…left when…” “…family.” “hadn’t thought about it in….” “Home…”_

The next two pages were blank and Jim realized he’d never find out what happened to Andy’s mom. Maybe if he could find the kid’s real name he could research him. The army kept records if no one else did. Maybe something else in that box… Jim thoughts skidded away from the box and the album and the shiny new padlock. Leaving the journal on the table with his half-empty coffee cup, Jim decided it was time to drive into town.

*-*


	8. Chapter 8

*-*

Armed with enough food for a few days and of course more beer, Jim stopped at the hardware store and loaded up on flashlights, candles, more matches and his own shiny new padlock. The first thing he did when he got home, after putting away the groceries and adding a couple logs to the fire was head upstairs and check the attic door.

With an evil chuckle, he forced his new padlock through the hasp and ring, locking it securely. As he put both keys on his key ring, he glanced at the ceiling and chuckled again. Someone might have the key to the first lock, but they wouldn’t get in or out now, not without his key which he planned to keep in his pocket at all times. 

Downstairs, he settled on the couch with a sandwich and beer. The old TV didn’t work well enough to get more a couple fuzzy stations and neither was a sports channel. He was going to have to go back to the loft and get the TV and stereo system. Probably some kind of satellite company around. The kid would want his screechy music and he could only go so long without basketball or football. 

The journal wasn’t where he left it and Jim spent the better part of the afternoon tearing the cottage apart looking for it. Cursing under his breath, he yelled at Sandburg for not putting things back where he found them and then caught sight of himself in a mirror. The sun had set and his face was shadowed and hollow looking.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair and thought he’d fit right in with vice now. “I didn’t mean it Guide.” Running around the room, turning on every light, Jim kept talking to Sandburg. “You can read the journal as long as you want kid. I… when you’re done though, I’d kind of like to find out what happened to Andy.”

Without waiting for an answer, Jim went to the kitchen and grabbed a TV dinner from the freezer and put it in the oven. Maybe he’d get a microwave or find out how far a Wonder Burger was. He could make that a weekly trip and get supplies he couldn’t get here. 

Waiting impatiently for the dinner to cook, Jim thought about Andy. He hadn’t read enough of the journal to get a real feel for the kid, but they had both lost their mothers at a young age and both had been in the military. And they both knew a Rafe. He wondered how Rafe had been at nineteen, twenty, would he have cried for his mother in Basic too? Jim knew lots of guys in his unit might not have cried aloud, but they all were homesick the first week or two. Except Jim of course. His home was nothing to miss, not with the old man thinking he could dictate every minute of their life and Steven… 

For the first time Jim looked beyond Steven’s giving in to the old man on every issue and wondered if he’d taken Steven with him when he left, would he have had a chance to turn out as something other than a carbon copy of the old man? His brother had been so much younger when their mother died, he probably didn’t even remember her, probably believed all those lies his father spouted off about her. He needed to know the truth.

When Sandburg was here, rather here to stay, they might make a trip to the old place and talk to Steven. Tell him about mom and how much she’d loved them. He would tell him how she would hold them both in her lap, reading a bedtime story or even just singing a lullaby before they fell asleep. 

When the TV dinner was finally done, Jim ate it quickly standing over the sink. Nothing compared to a real meal, but if he didn’t want to eat out at Mama’s every day, that was his only alternative. Cooking was too much of an effort. He needed to get some can goods and fill the pantry for when it really got cold. Probably get another cord of wood. The guy at the hardware store mentioned old Mrs. Peterson had lost two trees in the last storm and would give half the wood to anyone who’d cut them up for her. He could do that. 

Small-town living, he snorted. Trading instead of outright buying. Sandburg would love it. Jim paused, wondering what skills the kid would trade. His face fell when he realized the kid might not want to live here, might want to go back to Rainier. _Can you blame him?_ Jim sighed and pushed that thought away. He was just tired and needed his Guide. If it came down to it, he would follow his Guide because look what a mess he’d made trying to ignore him. 

He still had plenty to work on at the cottage to keep himself busy. It had to be done just right so the Guide would come and stay. It still wasn’t clean at all and that damn back porch had to be torn off and replaced before the snow arrived.

Ruffling through drawers, Jim found a pad of paper and a pen that worked most of the time. Settling down on the couch with a beer, he started making a list of things that needed done. When he’d covered one page, Jim set it aside and went up to bed. _Too much! Too damn much to do alone!_ His mind screamed at him. He’d have to break it down and concentrate on one thing at a time.

*-*


	9. Chapter 9

 

*-*

Everything was so peaceful. He was lying in bed with his eyes closed and the Chief was reading aloud. Probably one of his boring old textbooks on the courtship rituals in some tribe extinct a thousand years ago. Jim let the words wash over him, enjoying the sound of the kid’s voice. Somewhere in the background there was a song playing over and over, interspersed with short bursts of static.

After a while, Jim began to understand a word here and there. Then whole sentences. The peaceful feeling started to drain away. He woke slowly, not wanting to move and disturb Sandburg. Maybe he was awake and dreaming or dreaming his was awake.

_“…started calling myself B. Just B. Because I was smaller and easier to push around, I was the one beat up all the time, no matter where I was sent. At school it was worse—every school. Especially with a name like mine. Aunt Carolyn said mom got it out of some book of poetry. The first thing I did when I got old enough was legally change it, but until then I was just B. Plain old B. Even now, with a new name for a couple years, I still think of myself as B. Guess you can’t hide from yourself after all._

_Eventually I learned how to defend myself and if it wasn’t exactly ‘fair’ well neither was four or five bigger guys beating the crap out of me. Then came the army and I was just Sandburg.”_

The voice stopped and Jim moved restlessly, turning over and back again, finally ending face-up, lying on his back. He could open his eyes if he wanted to, but he was afraid the voice would leave and he’d be alone again. It was a good dream and if he opened his eyes, it would be over. He hadn’t felt this close to his Guide in a long time.

_“At first we thought it was going to be a piece of cake. That’s what the Cap’n said, always talking around a half-chewed stogie. We were gonna go over there and show those huns what for. Instead we learned how to bleed and how to cry and how to die. Not me though, no sir. I watched friend and foe die screaming in the mud, but no magic bullet came for me. Once we were hunkered down hiding behind what was left of an old stone wall out on some farm in the middle of nowhere and when the shooting finally stopped, I looked up and everyone was dead. I mean all our guys were dead, or bleeding out and I was untouched. That’s when I knew no matter what I wasn’t going to die here.”_

Jim frowned in concentration. That wasn’t a textbook, more like an autobiography – _**or a journal.**_ Why would Sandburg be reading a biography about some soldier? And – no wait, some soldier named Sandburg? Maybe one of the Chief’s relatives? The kid hadn’t been in any fighting himself. Right?

Without conscious thought, Jim opened his eyes to ask a question and the words froze on his lips. His Guide was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, reading from the moldy journal in the dark. Snapping his eyes shut again, Jim froze, sucked in a breath and waited for Sandburg to disappear.

_“The euphoria and recklessness lasted about a week, before I was shot in the leg, which is why I’m sitting in this crappy excuse for a base hospital bringing this journal up to date. Reading back over my previous entries of juvenile, naïve ramblings, I shudder to think how I made it this far alive.”_

There was the rustle of pages turning and Jim held his breath. 

_“It’s only been a bit over fourteen months and at the same time it feels like a thousand years. I’ve killed and at first it sickened me, but now… now it’s easy. I try to make them look me in the eye so they know who ended them.”_

That can’t be right, Jim frowned. He was just a kid, barely old enough to enlist. No—wait. That was Andy, not the Chief. Just someone else with Sandburg’s last name. What were the odds of that? Sandburg couldn’t become a hardened, heartless killer even if he’d been in a war. He must be dreaming. 

Yeah, that’s right. He was dreaming. “Chief…” His murmur was swallowed in the silence. 

“Go back to sleep Jim.” He heard just before drifting off. “You’re dreaming.”

 

*-*

In the morning he found the journal lying on the other pillow. He blinked at it a long time, recalling his dream. Sandburg had been here, right here on the bed, reading it. It hadn’t been a dream or at least that part hadn’t been a dream. 

Scratching at his head, Jim sat up and reached for the journal. There was enough light coming through the window that he could just make out a word here and there. Flipping forward and back, he searched for the section Sandburg had been reading out loud. That would prove he was really here. Rubbing his eyes, Jim got out of bed and turned on the lamp. The floor was freezing on his bare feet and he hurried back over to the tiny woven rug beside the bed, journal still in hand. 

Sitting on the side of the bed, Jim turned page after page until he reached the end. The last several pages had been roughly ripped out. Before that were several blank pages. There were no sections with enough words visible to account for everything he remembered hearing. It must have been a dream. With a grumble, he sat the journal on the bed and headed for the bathroom. He’d shower, shave and build up the fire a bit. Maybe go into town for breakfast and go talk to Mrs. Peterson.

When he came back out of the bathroom, the journal was gone. Clenching his teeth in annoyance, Jim dressed quickly and ran downstairs to grab his jacket. No need to build the fire up yet, not if he was going to be chopping wood all day. 

*-*

Several days later he had a new stack of wood behind the house. His muscles ached in a good way. Mrs. Peterson had plied him with hot chocolate and apple crisp when he even slowed down. It had been nice to be fussed over for a change, he thought. She told him stories about her husband who’d been a firefighter in Seattle before they’d retired here. She missed him, and made no bones about hoping to see him when she died. He’d reciprocated by telling her funny stories of things that had happened in the squad room and about his fellow detectives – especially Blair.

The journal hadn’t appeared again and neither had the Guide. Jim spent very little time at the cottage, coming home only to fall exhausted in bed or on the couch if he couldn’t stand the thought of climbing the stairs and just to get up and start over. Sometimes he dreamed of a song playing over and over, but it was just at the edge of his conscious and he couldn’t seem to remember the words.

*-*


	10. Chapter 10

*-*

Dozing on the porch in a rocker after lunch, Jim knew he should get up and go inside before the fine mist turned into a heavy rain, but he was too comfortable and too peaceful to move just yet. A car horn blared from over on the highway startling him and he sat up reluctantly with a wide yawn. That’s when he heard the music. 

Standing, he tilted his head and tried to pinpoint the sound. No cars, no close neighbors. No, the music was definitely in the house. Inside, the TV was off and there was nothing else that could play music, still he went toward it once again wishing for his missing Sentinel senses.

The song was familiar, but he didn’t recognize it.

It started over for the third time before he stopped and looked uneasily up the stairs. He thought he’d checked the lock on the attic door this morning, like every morning, but there might have been a few mornings… Had he checked the padlock since cutting the wood? 

Slowly, Jim started up the stairs, as cautious as if he were closing in on a perp.  
He could hear the words before he reached the top of the stairs.

 

Leave, leave,  
And please yourself at the same time  
Leave, leave,  
Let go of my hand  
You said what you have to now  
Leave, leave,  
Let go of my hand  
You said what you came to now  
Leave, leave,  
Leave, leave,  
Let go of my hand  
You said what you have to now  
Leave, leave...

He waited until the song repeated again before following the sound into Sandburg’s room. On the dresser sat an old-fashioned radio, the kind his grandmother kept in the kitchen when he was little. Yellowed with age and sporting several cigarette burns along the top, a tiny red light flashed beside the dial. 

It hadn’t been there yesterday and he didn’t recognize it, but he’d heard that song playing before. Somewhere. 

“I’m not leaving Chief.” When the song continued to play, Jim repeated it a little louder and in response, the volume on the radio went louder. “Not going anywhere without you, Guide.” Jim turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door sharply behind him. The song cut off abruptly.

Grinning, he jogged down the stairs and into the kitchen, taking his TO-DO list off the fridge door. _Cabinets._ His smile slipped a little as he looked around. It would be best to wait until spring to sand and refinish them, but they could use a good scrubbing now. Sighing resolutely, Jim set out the cleaning materials and got to work. It wasn’t until much later, when he was climbing in bed that he realized he’d been humming that song for quite some time.

*-*

 

Sitting straight up in bed, Jim reached for his gun out of habit before he remembered and grimaced. He was going to have to remember to dig his gun out and keep it ready. Silently sliding out of bed, he grabbed his jeans from the chair and jerked them on before stepping into his boots. There was no need to remain silent, the noise was deafening. Sandburg was shouting – no two Sandburg’s were having a loud and vicious argument but how could that be? Voices coming from nowhere, echoing in the darkness.

His Guide was here.

Taking a running start, Jim stumbled to a halt when he saw the door of Sandburg’s room was standing wide open. He’d shut that door, slammed it shut in fact. Now it was … open. The voices weren’t coming from there though, so he reluctantly turned away to face the stairs. With one last glance over his shoulder, Jim started down the steps into the darkness and screaming. 

“SANDBURG! CHIEF!” He yelled, trying to out-shout the fighters while running from room to room in the darkness. Knocking his knee against a chair, he cursed under his breath and slowed down, reluctant to turn on a light.

_“…my Sentinel!”_  
“My fucking house!”   
“Get another house! You shouldn’t be here!”  
“Get out! Get out of my house and take your damn Sentinel with you!” 

Jim had never heard the kid so angry. The very darkness vibrated with fury. The Chief had to be practically spitting the words at – himself? The voices were the same. Was he dreaming? In truth, it was more like a nightmare than any nightmare he’d ever had, except for the ache in his knee. Giving up the search and sitting on the bottom step, Jim waited, biting his lip and trying to make sense of what was happening, what he was hearing.

_“I’m not leaving! This is my house!”_  
“Well I’m not going anywhere!”  
“You will if I get rid of your pathetic excuse for a Blessed Protector!” 

Jim winced and dropped his head in his hands.

_“You so much as touch Jim and I’ll… I’ll”_  
“You’ll what?” The voice taunted sarcastically. “What can you possibly do to me?”   
“I’ll burn this house down around your ears!” 

The sound of hysterical laughter floated through the house.

_“I won’t have to do a thing. He’s more than ready to do it himself.”  
“You keep away from Jim! I …”_

The words cut off from one breath to the next, leaving behind a heavy silence. After a moment, Jim looked up and whispered out Blair’s name. He sat there a few more minutes and then clumped back up to bed.

*-*

In the cool, pale light of dawn, Jim sat on the edge of the bed and officially gave up trying to go back to sleep. The rest of the night had been silent, except in his head. He’d repeated the words backwards and forwards until his head ached and none of it still made any sense.

It had been Sandburg’s voice. _Both of them._ It was a screaming match with himself, only one of them didn’t talk like the kid. One Sandburg seemed to be threatening the other Sandburg, or rather Jim himself and the Chief would never do that. No matter what kind of hell he’d put him through or how crappy he’d treated him, Sandburg had never retaliated in anger, let alone the rage he’d witnessed.

His stomach rumbled and Jim rubbed it absently with one hand and tried to remember if he’d had anything for dinner last night. Rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out, he wondered not for the first time if it was even worth it to get out of bed. His Guide wasn’t coming. He’d done all he could, all he knew how to do and it still hadn’t worked. Was there any point to keep trying?

Oh, there’d been signs and even last night he’d heard the kid’s voice, but where was he? Why hadn’t he shown himself? If he was a ghost… Jim paused and swallowed heavily, admitting for the first time that his Guide might be dead. But even if he was, his mind rushed on, Sandburg would figure out how to appear and talk to him, not this half-assed haunting crap that had been going on. Raking both hands thru his hair, Jim realized two things. He was close to giving up hope and he needed a haircut.

Wrapping a robe around himself, he shuffled out into the hall and remembered the other bedroom door standing open. It was closed now. _The whole shouting match and running around the house had been nothing but a dream!_

“No.” He said out loud, shocking himself. “No. It was real. Sandburg is _real.”_ Striding forward he pushed the door open and stopped in stunned surprise. All of Sandburg’s masks had been swept onto the floor in a heap and his boxes had been kicked in multiple times. The radio had been tossed on the floor and stomped into pieces. 

The most shocking thing of all had Jim rushing across the room and tugging the window open. The room was filled with flies. Loud buzzing green flies. Hundreds of dead ones crunched under his boots and his stomach lurched. They flew at his face and he felt them crawling in his hair. Jim knew if he opened his mouth they’d get in and he wouldn’t be able to hold back the vomit. He was covered before he made it to the window, but managed to get it up a few inches before swiping desperately at himself to get them off.

It was too cold outside for any flies to have survived this late into the fall and the ones in the room weren’t rushing for the open window now. Still brushing at himself, Jim ran out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him and rushing straight for the bathroom. Unable to wait for warm water to make it up from the basement, Jim stripped and jumped under the cold spray. Staying in the shower long enough for the warm water to come and go, Jim was shivering again before he felt clean enough to dry off. 

Balling up his robe and sweats, he grabbed what was on the bathroom floor and went back to his bedroom to dress, leaving the bundle at the top of the stairs. He could either toss his clothes or go to the Laundromat. Downstairs he shoved everything in a trash bag and headed for the truck. It only occurred to him three or four times on the way to town that he should call Simon and let them lock him up in the looney bin. _But,_ he told himself, _the Guide is here and here is where I’ll stay. No matter what._

 

*-*

 

Giving the front door a hefty shove with his shoulder, Jim strode purposely toward the kitchen and elbowed the hot water on. Gripping a bottle of dishwashing liquid between two half-way clean fingers, he upended a good handful and started scrubbing rigorously at the grease and ignored the dead fly in the sink. 

It wasn’t the best to get grease off, but it was all he had. Leaning against the counter, Jim stared out the window seeing only the little old woman’s flashing black eyes and repeating her last comment like he had over and over all the way home. _“The Guide is there to lead the way. Watch closely Watchman. Don’t be fooled.”_

After finishing the laundry, Jim stopped at the hardware store and bought every can of bug spray they had. Finally calmed down he pulled into Mama’s for a late lunch and was on his way home when he passed the faded red Volkswagen bug on the side of the rode. He didn’t recognize it, but as soon as he saw the tiny old …person, staring at a flat tire in confusion, Jim whipped the truck around and pulled up across the road. Layered in coats and scarves with the hood pulled up, Jim could only tell it was a she by the few inches of long grey skirt hanging below and equally grey overcoat. Just as he turned off the key, she gave the tire a furious kick as if it gone flat just to spite her.

Not wanting to scare her, he rolled down the window and asked if she was okay. She gave him an unbelievably, exasperated look, like his third-grade teacher when he claimed he lost his homework—after he’d done it of course. With a smothered laugh, he asked if she needed him to call someone. Glancing at the glove compartment where the no-doubt dead phone was hidden, Jim hoped she said no.

“I imagine so, if you’re too good to change a tire.” She huffed and turned her back on him to stare at the tire some more, swirling coat and skirt. With a grunt, Jim jumped down from the truck and walked across the road. 

“Do you have a spare ma’m?” He asked politely, looking the car over. He hadn’t seen one of these babies in ages. Despite its age, it was very clean, without a scratch or dent.

She turned on her heel and looked up at him with a sniff. “I imagine there’s something in the trunk.” She said abruptly, gesturing vaguely at the wrong end of the car. Jim recognized that look of narrow-eyed speculation and bit the inside of his cheek. “I’d be grateful if you could help.” She smiled tremulously up at him, suddenly changing her tune when her eyes met his and looking very old and helpless. And curious.

Working hard to keep the grin off his face, Jim went around and got the spare out of the trunk. It was as old as the car and at first glance it looked flat too. It wasn’t and it didn’t take too long to get the tire changed, just a bit of grease and grime on his hands. She hovered over him anxiously, muttering under her breath.

When he’d put the flat tire in her trunk and slammed it shut, he dusted his hands together and hoped there was an old rag in the truck to wipe his hands on. 

“Thank you.” She tugged at his sleeve and Jim wondered if she was trying to give him money. With a polite smile he looked down at her to refuse only to be caught by her intense dark eyes. She tugged his sleeve harder and Jim bent down, eyes wide. Letting go of his sleeve, she pointed down and leaned over to pluck something from his boot. Holding her palm open to show him the dead fly, she shook her head before blowing it away and scrubbing her hand against her coat.

“The path is a path, available to good and evil alike.” She lowered her voice after a surreptitious glance up and down the empty road. “Cling tightly to the good, Watchman and you won’t be fooled.” Her eyes studied his for a moment and she shook her head in exasperation. Pursing her lips, she lifted her chin as if she could look down her nose at him. “The Guide is there to lead the way. Watch closely Watchman. Don’t be fooled.” Cackling at her joke, she wobbled around him unsteadily and managed to drive away, leaving him standing in the road with his mouth hanging open. _Watchman._ Sandburg had used that word the first time he’d gone to his office. _Watchman. Sentinel._

Running a shaky hand over his head and inspecting it for flies, Jim let out a snort and walked back to the truck. Under the seat he found an old rag and was able to get enough grease off his hands to comfortably touch the steering wheel. She was just a crazy old lady, she didn’t— _she couldn’t_ —know anything. 

Going over the scene again, Jim was shocked out of his reverie when the water turned scalding hot. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the paper towel roll and unwound a generous handful. Tossing the entire wad at the trashcan, he headed back out to the truck for bug spray. He had some killing to do.

 

*-*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. I made this an especially long chapter to make up for it.
> 
> Here is the complete song:
> 
> Leave by Glen Hansard
> 
>  
> 
> I can't wait forever is all that you said  
>  Before you stood up  
>  And you won't disappoint me  
>  I can do that myself  
>  But I'm glad that you've come  
>  Now if you don't mind
> 
> Leave, leave,  
>  And free yourself at the same time  
>  Leave, leave,  
>  I don't understand, you've already gone
> 
> I hope you feel better  
>  Now that it's out  
>  What took you so long  
>  And the truth has a habit  
>  Of falling outta your mouth  
>  Well now that it's come  
>  If you don't mind
> 
> Leave, leave,  
>  And please yourself at the same time  
>  Leave, leave,  
>  Let go of my hand  
>  You said what you have to now  
>  Leave, leave,  
>  Let go of my hand  
>  You said what you came to now  
>  Leave, leave,   
> Leave, leave,  
>  Let go of my hand  
>  You said what you have to now  
>  Leave, leave...


	11. Chapter 11

*-*

Easing the door open with one foot, Jim leaned in with a spray can in each hand, poised to start shooting immediately and sees what he really needed was a broom. Dead flies littered every surface and were layered deep on the floor. The temperature was freezing and he rubbed his arms as he crunched dead flies walking over to shut the window.

With a resigned sigh, he put the spray cans on the dresser and shook the bedspread off. It would have to be washed of course, but first he gently spread out Sandburg’s masks, lining them up carefully. 

Returning with broom, dustpan and garbage bag, Jim worked steadily until the unholy mess was gone. Later he’d come up and mop the floor just to make sure it was clean. Finally with the bag filled and sitting in the hallway, Jim took a last look around. Fingers sliding over the smooth wood of the largest mask, he spoke softly to the empty room. “You’re the good Blair Sandburg, there’s nothing evil in you and there never can be.”

Outside the sun hung low in the sky and Jim stared out the window for a moment while he waited. Shrugging negligently, he added. “I know you’re here and I won’t leave without you Chief.” Leaving the door open, he grabbed the bag and went downstairs.

It took four trips to the kitchen to notice that his gun was sitting in front of the chair he usually sat in. After blinking at it a few times, Jim hesitantly reached out and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Checking automatically, he found a single bullet in the chamber. Thumbing the safety back on, Jim ejected the bullet and put it in his shirt pocket. The gun he weighed in his hand before taking it upstairs and laying it on the nightstand by his bed.

*-*

Later that night, in the midst of a dream Jim stood and walked slowly out of his room and into the kid’s room. He knew it was a dream because everything was tinged in blue and he didn’t have his boots on yet his feet weren’t freezing.

Sandburg stood looking out the window, turning when Jim gasped. Blinking madly, Jim could see the trees _through_ the kid and his stomach dropped. Blair grinned at the horrified look that must be showing on his face and nodded his head.

“Surprise.” He said in a low voice, gesturing down at himself. “Jim? Are you alright? You don’t look well.” He said questioningly, leaning forward to examine Jim’s face. 

Jim nodded, unable to speak. He’d had so much to say and now he couldn’t get a word out. 

“Have you been eating at Wonder Burger again?” Blair took a step closer, more of a glide Jim thought, still peering up at his face with a slight frown. “An allergic reaction?” Blair shook his head impatiently. “No, something else. Something… Your skin isn’t a healthy color, your hair is definitely not shining, you have bags under your eyes and you just look… tired. What’s going on Sentinel?”

“Lost my senses or … maybe suppressed them. I’m not a Sentinel anymore Chief.” Jim ducked his head in shame. “Maybe it just went away because I failed my Guide. Anyway, I don’t deserve them—not after I … after you … drowned.” Jim swallowed audibly and lifted his head. “I… I …I’m sorry Chief.” Jim rubbed at his face. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” His voice cracked and he wondered how his legs were still holding him up as weak as they felt.

“It’s gonna be all right, Jim.” Blair said gently, gesturing with one hand. “I know you did all you could. You and the rest of the team.” 

Jim ducked his head.

“How is the rest of the team? Simon? Joel? Megan?” Blair’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. “Jim? What have you done?”

Jim shrugged and glanced up briefly. 

“They don’t know where you are, do they?” Blair breathed. “You just took off without a word to any of them.” Blair shook his head in disbelief. “Of all the stupid…”

“They kept saying you were dead and … and…” Jim looked up sheepishly. “I didn’t believe them.”

Blair snorted. “Look at me Jim.” Blair turned around and Jim forced himself to look at the kid, really look. “Take a good look.” Holding out both arms, Blair twirled slowly, one eyebrow raised in question. “Well?”

“I had to find you.” Jim argued. “They said you were gone. You’re not gone. You’re here. Unless this is a dream or … a vision?”

“Or a psychotic break?” Blair grinned. “I’d rather think I was here, thank you very much.”

“Me too.” Jim grinned back at him in relief and it almost felt like old times. “I got this house for us. I can’t wait to tell you all the things I want to do to it.” Jim waved his hand and Blair’s grin morphed into a frown. “In the spring I want to add a big deck where you…” Jim trailed off when he saw the look on the kid’s face.

“There’s evil here.” Blair shook his head. “You can’t stay. You need to leave as soon as you can. Sooner if possible.”

“If I leave, will you come with me?” Already shaking his head in refusal, Jim got a mulish look on his face. He’d worked too hard, put too much into this to just walk away… and without his Guide? Not happening. Not again.

“I don’t … I don’t think I can.” Blair hugged himself tightly and shivered. “I’m tied here somehow. Maybe… maybe I was just waiting for you, but I don’t think that’s all of it. Something’s going on. Something I don’t understand. Yet.”

“Not leaving you again, Chief.” Jim said forcefully. “I’ve been here almost two months waiting for you to show up and except for a few glimpses and dreams, this is the first time we’ve spoken and you want me to leave? Ain’t happening.” Jim folded his arms across his chest and let his eyes rest on Sandburg. 

“Don’t argue with me Jim.” Blair pressed his lips together in a tight frown. “You always have to argue. I’m the Guide, remember. You should be doing what I tell you to do. Without question.” Jim thought he heard the slightest trace of bitterness and was shamed again as his mind flooded with memories of how he’d argued and outright ignored the kid when he said something Jim hadn’t agreed with. 

Another memory blocked them all. 

_‘The Guide is there to lead the way.’_ Jim shook his head as if to shake the old woman’s words out of his head. “Not when you’re wrong.” Jim held up a hand when Blair opened his mouth. “And you’re wrong.”

Blair sighed heavily and cocked his head to one side, tugging a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“I’ve learned to follow my Guide.” Jim grinned. “And I will follow wherever you lead.”

Blair nodded gratefully until he saw the trap. “I can’t leave. I told you that already.”

Jim threw his hands up. “I will follow my Guide. You go, I go. You stay, I stay.” He hoped his tone carried enough seriousness that Sandburg understood he meant it.

“Jim.” Blair shook his head and reached out a hand to touch his arm, but pulled it back.

“Can I touch you?” Jim took a step closer and lifted one hand as if to touch Blair’s shoulder, ignoring the way the kid’s eyes flared in fear.

“No! Jim don’t! Jim…” The moment Jim’s hand came in contact with Blair, the blue light flashed and exploded inside Jim’s head. Then he fell. And fell and fell. He passed out before he hit the floor.

*-*


	12. Chapter 12

*-*

 

 

Jim opened one bleary eye and found himself eyeball-to- eyeball with a fly, wobbling feebly straight toward his face. With a yelp that definitely wasn’t a girlish squeal, he scrambled backwards and a rush of dizziness stopped him from feeling much of anything when he slammed into the dresser making something heavy on it thump. 

With one eye on the fly, he looked around and wondered why he’d been on the floor in Sandburg’s room for a minute before memories of the dream or vision or ha ha _psychotic break_ rushed in and he sat up, rubbing his face. If his hand came away wet, there was no one to see him wipe it on his tee-shirt. 

With the half-dead fly still wobbling in crazy circles, Jim got unsteadily to his feet and swore. He was too old for this wandering around in the middle of the night-sleeping on the floor stuff. Turning around to see what had thumped on the dresser and stopped breathing.

His gun. _His_ gun. No longer on the nightstand where he’d left it. Had he carried it in here when he’d talked with the kid? No, no he distinctly remembered his hands being empty. How the hell had it gotten in here? Maybe he hadn’t talked to Sandburg’s ghost, maybe psychotic break was right on the money. 

Scrubbing his face with both hands, Jim glared at the gun. No. he wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t having a psychotic break or seeing visions. He’d talked to his Guide. He had. The gun was something else, something not connected to Sandburg. Something evil.

Checking the chamber, he found a single round. With a fierce look on his face, Jim ejected the shell and threw it against the wall. It fell and rolled behind the bed. Taking the gun and making sure the fly was smashed into paste, Jim left the room head held high. He wasn’t crazy. Besides, even Simon had acknowledged the Sentinel stuff was freaky. This was no different.

 

*-*

Taking a quick shower, Jim decided to stock up on groceries instead of making frequent trips to town. It would start snowing soon and he’d heard enough horror stories from the residents not to take it lightly. 

The shopping went quickly and he was back earlier than expected. Jumping down from the truck, he grabbed two sacks and headed up the porch steps. Sitting one sack down while he unlocked the door, Jim’s attention was drawn by one of the rockers. Letting the other sack thump down to the porch, Jim looked around carefully before striding over to the rocker and grabbing the arm to still it. Satisfied there was no one close, Jim picked up his gun and looked around again. When no one jumped out from behind the trees, he looked down long enough to check the chamber and found the single bullet. This was getting ridiculous. 

Stepping over the bags of groceries, Jim held the gun in one hand and went through the house checking windows and doors. After he cleared the first floor, he headed upstairs to check the padlocks on the attic door. Shaking his head in frustration, this time he put the gun in the nightstand drawer. He’d have to head back to town and see if he could get a gun lock before there was an accident. 

Maybe Sandburg could explain what the hell was going on. Someone needed to.

*-*

Before he had put away one bag of groceries, there was an imperious knocking on the door. With a frown, Jim sat the jar of peanut butter back on the counter and scraped at his jaw with one hand. Maybe he should’ve taken the time to shave today. Oh well, beat on a man’s door like that and you get what you get.

“Yeah! Yeah!” He shouted when the pounding didn’t stop. “Hold your horses, I’m coming.” Jerking the door open wearing a thunderous scowl, Jim was surprised to find two young girls staring up at him with frightened eyes. He quickly twisted his face into a facsimile of a smile.

“M…Mister Jim?” The dark-haired one asked when the sandy-haired one poked her in the back, pushing her forward a step. Without waiting for his nod, she held up a sack filled with boxes. “Aunt Melanie said you …um ordered some cookies?” 

“She’s making us deliver them ourselves. And collect the money.” The sandy-haired one added, safely behind the other one.

Looking up, Jim noticed the white van in the driveway. The window was down and a woman he vaguely remembered from Mama’s waved at him. Waving back, Jim patted his back pockets for his wallet. “Hang on.” He turned around, leaving the door wide open. “You wanna come in out of the wind?” Looking over his shoulder he almost laughed at the frantic shaking of two heads. “Okay then.” Looking around and not seeing his wallet, Jim raced up the steps, two at time, and finally found it in his jacket hanging from the closet door.

“Here.” He gasped out of breath, holding a fifty out at them. Running up and down a set of stairs should not leave him out of breath like that. He wondered if he was just getting old. Maybe he should start running again.

“Mr. Jim—” The dark-haired one started, shaking her head again and making her long hair fly around her head.

“Sorry. We don’t have change for … for that.” The sandy-haired one kept her eyes on the fifty.

“It’s ok girls.” Jim grinned, enjoying a normal moment in his out-of-control life. “Keep the change. Really.” He added when they both looked at him and then each other. The sandy-haired one reached around and snatched the money while the dark-haired one pushed the bag of cookies at him. “Thanks!” They both shouted, running down the steps back to the van waving the fifty in the air. “Look Aunt Melanie! Look what Mr. Jim gave us!”

With another wave toward the van and ‘Aunt Melanie’ Jim shut the door and peeked in the bag. He vaguely remembered telling someone he liked thin mints when he first got here, but hadn’t thought about it again. Ripping one box open, he stuffed two in his mouth with a moan of pleasure and went toward the kitchen in search of a glass of milk.

 

*-*

 

He spent three nights in Sandburg’s room, dozing in the corner waiting, but by the fourth day his back was screaming angrily enough that he went back to his own bed. Waking often, he dozed fitfully, jerking awake at every sound. For some reason, his brain was on high alert. 

The third time he woke up, he could tell it was still dark before he opened his eyes. With a sigh he punched the flat pillow and rolled over only to give a choked off scream and scoot so far backwards he fell off the bed with a solid thump, dragging the quilt with him. The room had gone from chilly to icy from one breath to the next. Gasping for air, Jim tried to think, but his mind screamed RUN! RUN YOU IDIOT!

 _Something_ – Sandburg-shaped had been laying on top the covers staring at him with vacant eyes. Something dark and shadowy in the shape of a man, a certain man. The eyes were the only clear thing he’d seen in the split second before he reacted. It wasn’t Sandburg, but the eyes… the eyes were the same color as the kids’ but …dead. It could have been Sandburg if he was a roiling mass of black smoke. 

Tangled in the quilt, Jim scrambled back up only to find the bed was empty. With a curse at his own stupidity he slapped the mattress and sat on the bed, head in hands. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t his Guide. Giving up on sleep, Jim dressed in warm clothes and went down to play with the fire. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with that – _thing_ roaming around the house. 

It wasn’t until he was sitting down with the first cup of coffee that he noticed the journal sitting on the side table. He’d meant to ask around town, but now he was glad he hadn’t – didn’t need more people thinking he was off his rocker. Maybe he’d call Simon this weekend and see how everyone was doing. No, best to wait until Sandburg was here to stay and that would show them just how wrong they were. No sense turning his cell phone back on just yet.

Meantime, he’d read the journal and see how Andy was doing. 

Quickly finding his place, Jim settled back to read.

 _“Cap’n B called me into his office yesterday. Said my shooting scores were good enough to train as a sniper.”_ Hmpf. Jim snorted. “Doesn’t…” the rest of the line was smeared out and part of the next line. The next readable part started in the middle of the sentence. _“… not any different than shooting someone in the back, but the Sarge….” “… my duty to…” “…’s mama sent a box of cookies and man…”_

Jim skipped ahead, reading quickly, but found no more mention of the sniper training. Perhaps Andy had turned it down. Not wanting to lose the journal again, Jim put it in the refrigerator. He figured whoever was moving it around wouldn’t look there. With a smirky grin, he turned around and scrambled at the refrigerator door handle to keep from falling.

The black figure was standing inches in front of him. Creepy eyes glowing up at him. It was shorter than he was, shorter like… no NOT like the kid. This … this horror-show reject wasn’t his Guide. Not his happy, fun loving Guide. This was… this was… something evil.

Breaking out in a sweat with his back against the fridge door, Jim tried to inch sideways, but the figure moved with him. “Wha… What do you want?” He whispered hoarsely, coughing when his voice sounded like a frog. “Who are you?”

The figure tilted his head at Jim, the eyes never blinking. 

“Get out. Get out of my house.” Jim managed. The figure leaned in, eyes inches from Jim’s. His mouth had dried up and it was hard to speak. Nausea hit him the face, but he couldn’t smell anything. “By … by all that’s holy, get the hell out of my house!” Jim found the strength to shout the last few words and without thinking put out both hands to push the roiling mass away from him and his hands sunk into it. With a wordless shriek he jerked back shaking his hands frantically. Covered in crawling, buzzing flies, Jim stared at them in disbelief. For the first time he could hear the incessant buzzing. Wiping his hands at his pants, Jim ran for the sink and let cold water wash his hands clean. Leaving the water run to swirl the nasty flies down the drain, Jim looked back at the figure in horror. Its top half was shaking slightly, and with a quick indrawn breath Jim realized it was laughing.

Suddenly angry, Jim glanced around for a weapon and saw several cans of bug spray. Lunging across the room, he grabbed a can in each hand and pressed the buttons. The thing split apart as flies erupted into a cloud and flew and fell and Jim swore he could hear each one individually shriek as it died. Gagging slightly, he walked closer, as the thing tried to get away through the back door. The locked back door. Suddenly all that was left was a pile of dead flies on the floor.

Jim leaned back against the counter and breathed a sigh of relief. Outside the sun was coming up.

*-*


	13. Chapter 13

*-*

 

Sliding down against the cupboards on rubbery knees until he was sitting with legs splayed out in front of him, Jim let his head drop forward on his chest in relief. No question about it, he was certifiable. Realizing he still had a strangle-hold on a can of bug spray with each hand, he forced frozen fingers to let go and watched the cans roll in crazy circles across the floor toward the back door. Dead flies littered the linoleum.

His first thought was to burn the place to the ground and get the hell out of there, but the memory of Sandburg saying he was tied here replayed in his head. What would happen to the kid if the house was nothing but a pile of ashes? Would his Guide still be trapped here? Or free to go with him? They could find another place, far from this cursed lake. He would call the guys and things would be back on track. Except for when he explained about the fly-monster creepy-crawly thing and they hustled him into a straight-jacket and threw away the key.

Shelving the thought for later, Jim headed upstairs for a shower, leaving the cans on the floor. He could still feel thousands of fly legs crawling all over his hands and even though he could see nothing, he felt unclean. Contaminated in some way that he knew soap and water couldn’t touch.

Rubbing his hands didn’t help the ache, but Jim didn’t know what else to do. There was no way he could go to a doctor and explain he’d shoved his hands in a horrific mass of flies in his kitchen in the middle of the night – a monster standing… floating… flying… whatever… laughing at him. He rifled through his suitcase for ben-gay and Tylenol and tried to ignore it. Snapping the cap off the Tylenol, the thought crossed his mind that he had surely been here long enough to unpack. Or not.

*-*

Just before dark, Jim checked and double-checked each room making certain every window and door was locked, even the back door. Then he grabbed four cans of bug spray and set them on the floor beside the couch. After building up the fire, he found the news on TV and settled in. Dinner was a cup of Ramen noodles. Sandburg used to eat them all the time when he thought Jim wasn’t home to see, never realizing Jim’s sense of smell was strong enough to pull that scent out of the air, no matter what precautions the had taken 

He really was going to have to drive in and get a Wonder burger one of these days. Closing his eyes, Jim let his head loll back on the couch and fantasized about a big juicy Wonder burger. Mouth watering, he could just taste the combination of hot grease, meat, onion and pickles on his tongue. No mayo? Yeah, there it was “Mmmmmm.” Swallowing heavily he was lost in the second bite when someone cleared their throat right beside him.

“Whoa! Jim, calm down.” Blair laughed, holding up both hands. “What on earth were you thinking about? You looked like you were having a religious experience there.”

Staring at Sandburg in disbelief, Jim pressed a hand against his chest to hold his heart in. “Cheez man! Warn a guy why don’t ya?” 

Blair’s laugh broke off as he stared at Jim’s hands. “What’s wrong with your hands?” He drifted closer, both hands held out to grab Jim’s hands.

“What?” Jim held his hands out in front of himself, turning them over staring at them in surprise. “What’s wrong with my hands?”

“Your hands.” Blair gestured. “They’re dark… burnt looking.” His eyes flew to Jim’s face. “Did you touch something? Have a reaction?”

“No. I told you…” Jim dropped his hands, stuffing them in his pockets when the kid kept staring at them, mouth hanging open rudely. “…not a Sentinel anymore. No problems with my senses at all. Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Blair’s eyes went to his face, head cocked to the side, easily distracted. His hands dropped back into his own lap and he seemed to move away a few inches without actually moving.

“Nothing.” Jim shook his head then had a thought. “Oh…” Taking his hands back out to stare at them himself, he chewed at his bottom lip with indecision. Well, he was going to ask about the fly _thing_ anyway. Ugly creepy disgusting…

“Oh what?” Blair came closer, tilting his head to the side, hands forgotten. 

“What?” Jim looked up, clearly distracted. “Oh. The thing, the flies…”

“What thing? What flies?” Blair’s voice deepened in concern. He reached for Jim’s hand, his own passing right through it.

“Aggh.” Jim jerked his hand back. “That felt… weird.” He looked at his hand where Blair had _touched_ it and frowned. It felt different. 

“I’m sorry, man!” Blair moved back several feet, drifting right through the couch. “I didn’t mean to hurt you Jim.”

“Didn’t hurt.” Jim swiveled around to keep him in sight, rubbing one hand with the other. “Come back and do it again.”

“Are you sure?” Blair didn’t move. “It makes me woozy to see my hand go through stuff. That’s why I try not to touch anything. There’s only a few things I can feel. It’s a good thing I seem to be able to just go through walls.”

“What?” Jim held his hands out toward Blair and wiggled them. “Come on, quit fooling around Chief. I think you’re touching them helped with the … contamination.”

“Yeah. About that … _contamination._ What are we talking here Jim?’ Blair came close, bending over Jim’s hands, motioning him to turn them over so he could see the other side.

“A creepy-crawly, fly _thing.”_ He shrugged trying to disguise the shudder he couldn’t control. “First in bed with me and then down here in the kitchen.”

“Are you saying the house is haunted?” Blair looked up at him in disbelief a hint of laughter in his voice. “Listen to yourself Jim.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jim shouted, grabbing at the kid’s hands, his own passing through them. “What the hell do you think you are anyway? Of course the damn house is haunted—you’re haunting it!”

“Well I’m not a … a fly-thing.” Blair put his hands behind his back and backed away from Jim.

“Never said you were Chief.” Jim walked toward him. “Come on. Whatever you’re made of is helping my hands feel normal again.”

Jim swallowed back a gag when his Guide was bent over his hands, rubbing them with his own, making sure to ‘touch’ every bit of skin. Looking down at Sandburg’s curly head, he could see through him… see his own boots on the floor. 

“That’s good.” Jim jerked his hands back unable to stand the tingly sensation any longer and ignored the hurt look on the kid’s face. How could a ghost – even a Guide ghost – have such expression? “I need a beer.” 

Striding quickly into the kitchen, Jim jerked the door to the fridge open and his heart stopped. There on top of the journal he’d placed there early this morning, lay his gun. With an angry growl he jerked it out and ejected the single shell.

Turning to watch it clatter across the floor, he could see it roll right through Sandburg’s right foot. He’d followed him. 

“Jim?” Sandburg bent over and tried to pick up the shell without success. Giving up, he went to the sink and studied Jim. “What the heck is going on here? Why is your gun in the refrigerator? And wasn’t that the other Sandburg’s journal on the shelf too?” With each word, the kid came closer and finally reached right through the refrigerator door and pulled the journal out. “You shouldn’t be reading this, let alone touching it. I’m going to burn it. Right now.” Juggling the little book like a hot potato, Sandburg turned toward the back door.

_“Other Sandburg?”_ Jim’s voice didn’t actually squeak, but it was a near thing. “OTHER SANDBURG?” He crossed the room and jerked the journal out of Sandburg’s hand. “Look.” He pointed toward the cover. “It says ‘A N D’ then a few spaces and a’ G’. “Andy G”

“No.” Sandburg said gently, reaching for the journal and tugging it away from Jim. Tilting it toward him, “It used to say SANDBURG.” He shook his head, at him or the journal, Jim couldn’t tell. “This is filled with ... just plain evil thoughts. I know it’s a helluva coincidence but I truly hope I am in no way, shape or form related to this guy. He’s a nasty piece of work.”

“Sandburg? It says Sandburg? Not Andy G?” Jim repeated stupidly, eyes darting between his Guide and the journal. “Sandburg? You’re sure?” He felt like he’d been in a fog. Why hadn’t he realized that? It was glaringly obvious now.

“Yes. Yes it does say Sandburg.” The kid smiled sadly and looked down at the journal. With a shrug he turned away and drifted through the backdoor and out onto the broken enclosed porch, while Jim watched him mouth agape before turning to run through the house, out the front door and around the corner of the house.

Just like with the album, there was a smoldering pile of ashes and no sign of his Guide. “Son of a bitch!” Jim shouted slamming his palm against the side of the house. He hadn’t gotten a single question answered. 

 

 

*-*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I promise you when I started posting, this fic was DONE! and then the fly-monster crawled out of the attic demanding to be included.


	14. Chapter 14

*-*

When several days passed and neither Sandburg nor the fly monster made an appearance, Jim started to relax his hyper vigilance and took a serious look around. The place wasn’t much different from when he’d moved in. He certainly couldn’t have the guys here with it looking like this. Shaking his head in annoyance, he wondered how he’d gotten so side-tracked. 

He sat on the floor, sore knee stretched out in front of him and scrubbed with an old brush he’d found in the pantry dragging the bucket along as he scooted around. It took half the afternoon, but in the end even Sandburg could eat off the linoleum. There wasn’t so much as a fly speck left.

When the downstairs was clean, he started on some of the more glaring repairs. He spent an entire afternoon sanding on the front door, tee-shirt soaked in sweat even under the damp November wind until it opened and closed with only a slight sticking. He cleaned kitchen windows and pulled down the ratty curtains, meaning to install blinds. He’d measure and get some next time he went to town. 

Leaning back against the doorframe, he grinned in satisfaction. He might have dishwater hands, but the kitchen was finally done. On Monday he’d measure the enclosed back porch and start tearing out the rotted floor boards. It was getting too cold to start the new deck now, but he might get it framed before the ground froze over and everything would be put on hold until spring. He wanted to be able to use the back door instead of being distracted by all the supernatural bull crap that had been going on.

Relaxing on the couch with a well-earned beer, Jim promptly fell asleep. A burst of gunfire from the TV woke him with a start. With a groan he sat up and looked around. Night had fallen and he hadn’t left any lights on. A movement caught his eye and Jim gasped, afraid to move. Fly monster was back. 

Jim’s finger’s dug into the couch cushions while his mind screamed at him to _**run, run, fucking run, now!**_ His throat closed up and he couldn’t even scream. Afraid to look away or even blink his eyes burned from keeping them open so long, he sucked in harsh gasps of air watching as it came closer and closer.

“Gah…uh…” he barked out, when it stopped directly in front of him and tipped what was probably its head to the side to study him. Jim barely had time to be thankful that the flies were holding cohesion and not touching him before a section that could be called a lumpy arm broke away and came toward him. 

“Elllllizon.” Voice sounding more like grinding machinery than a person, it spoke. There was no movement in the area that could be termed a face, the sound came from the air around him. “Ellizon.” This time Jim realized it was saying his name. With a gagging sound he pushed himself away from that crawly lump of an arm.

Suddenly free from the frozen fear that held him in place, Jim started scrabbling backwards, trying to get over the back of the couch. The arm lengthened alarmingly, reaching up to pat him on the head and Jim slid back down before it could touch him. Heart pounding, he waited while the arm came down to stop for a moment right in front of his eyes. 

Swallowing rapidly, Jim made no move to touch the creature again. He couldn’t, he’d vomit all over himself and the couch, probably tipping forward right into the whole mess. “What do you want?” He whispered hoarsely. Maybe if he tried talking to it…

The thing dropped its arm a bit lower and then jiggled the end of it. Jim looked at it confusion and it jiggled again only faster this time. Taking a chance, Jim bit the inside of his cheek and held out one shaky hand. “Ellizzzzon.”

The mass of flies spread apart and his gun dropped into his hand. Jim let it fall, sliding against his leg to land against the cushions. There were no flies on it. Whole body shaking now, he picked it up and gaped up at the fly monster in surprise. 

Apparently having done what it came for, the creature backed off and then snapped out of existence right in front of Jim without a sound. The room was immediately so much warmer that Jim realized it had been freezing. 

_One shell in the chamber._ Where was the damn thing getting the shells? And how could it hold a solid object when Sandburg was having so much trouble. Too many questions and no answers. Next time his Guide showed up, he’d start with the questions and maybe find out what was going on. Pulling the tee shirt over his head, Jim wrapped the gun in it and carried it upstairs and laid it on the bedside table. There was no place he could hide it from the fly monster, so why bother. 

His hands didn’t feel disgusting this time, but he spent quite a while in the bathroom scrubbing them in hot water. He left the door open and glanced up at every creak and whisper of noise he heard. No, way was he going to be trapped in this small space if the thing came back. 

Afterward, he grabbed his jacket and headed into town. He needed to be surrounded with people, real people. And noise, music – he didn’t much care what kind. Maybe grab some dinner and he could always use more beer. 

 

-*-


	15. Chapter 15

-*-

 

Jim stood stiffly in front of the big picture window, staring out in the night without seeing the rain that pelted down in sheets obscuring the view of the lake as it curved around . He had spent the day thinking about the fly monster and the gun. _Ellizzzon._ Why? What was the point? Surely there was more than the obvious point of suicide. Maybe the fly monster couldn’t really hurt him, had to goad him into doing it himself. 

Maybe he was just playing with him. Taunting him. Why hadn’t his Guide put a stop to it? _Ellizzzon._ Did this somehow tie back to the screaming match a couple weeks ago? Was evil Sandburg – fly monster stronger than the Chief? Well, it was obviously older, a different Sandburg – certainly not his gentle Guide. An evil pit of stinking anger and hate. 

Thunder cracked and Jim blinked realizing it was dark. Had it been dark when he’d walked over to the window to check the low, dark clouds rolling in? How long had he stood here anyway? In the act of turning his wrist to check the time, Jim realized someone was standing in the rain, staring right back at him. 

“Guide.” His voice was hoarse from disuse, but he was able to pull his lips into a welcoming smile. He wasn’t going to take the chance of running out in the rain to catch Sandburg only to find him long gone—not again. “I knew you’d show up sooner or later Chief.” He whispered, certain his Guide could hear him through the window and crashing of thunder. “I coulda used some support earlier when the evil Sandburg fly monster was here.”

Sandburg’s face twisted into a confused frown, lips pressed tightly together. It was starting to freak Jim out watching the storm rage around and through his Guide while not stirring a strand of hair nor a drop of rain touching him. His lips moved and Jim leaned closer to the glass, putting one hand up to balance himself. It looked like the kid was saying _warn you._ Warn him about what? Jim threw up his hands in exasperation. Why didn’t he just come inside and –.

Shaking his head impatiently, curly hair to flare out around him, Sandburg walked through the wall so suddenly, Jim had to stumble backwards to keep from being walked through. “Gack! Damn it Sandburg!” Catching his balance, Jim rolled his eyes. “Sorry.” This wasn’t evil Sandburg fly monster, but his Guide. This Sandburg would never hurt him. “It’s the whole …” Jim flung a hand out. “… ghost thing.” Glancing behind him, Jim went to the couch and sat down.

“I came to warn you.” Sandburg said in a flat voice, “I learned… I heard…” 

“Whatever it is can wait until we figure out how to get rid of evil Sandburg.” Jim talked over him, drowning him out. “The whole fly creep show has gotten worse if you can believe it.” He should probably throw a couple more logs on the fire. Just hearing the rain slash against the windows made him feel cold and damp.

“What?” Jim looked up from the fire and found Sandburg standing in front of him. “Jim what are you talking about man?” The puzzled frown was still there, but the flat tone was gone.

“You know.” Jim threw up both hands. “Look I know you’re not him—not that Sandburg, but he— _it_ really freaks me out … and … I said I was sorry.” Jim looked down at his hands and rubbed them together self-consciously. He didn’t want to see the accusing look on the kid’s face.

“It—” No way was he calling that thing ‘he’. “Anyway, it was here earlier and scared the crap out of me. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking—”

“Jim.”

“… big, bad Army Ranger, homicide detective, Sentinel…. Whatever…”

“Jim.”

“… but I’m honest enough to admit—”

“Shut up Jim. You’re babbling.” Sandburg waved his hands in Jim’s face. “What. Are. You. Talking. About?”

“Uh…What?” It was Jim’s turn to frown in confusion. 

Rolling his eyes in a way that used to drive Jim insane, Sandburg sat on the floor in front of Jim and folded his legs Indian fashion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Start over. Who was here earlier?” Nodding his head, Sandburg gestured encouragingly.

“The fly-monster thing? Evil Sandburg?” Jim raised both eyebrows and opened his hands. “Remember? I told you about it the last time you were here.” Jim’s voice seemed to get louder as Sandburg’s frown deepened. “Surely you haven’t forgotten already?”

“Jim.” His Guide was shaking his head no. “I didn’t—” 

“Don’t shake your head at me.” Jim leaned forward, suddenly caught between anger and fear. Didn’t Sandburg remember? Or had the whole thing been a dream? Was he dreaming now? Maybe it was time for the guys in the white coats. Maybe he was still in the hospital and pumped full of drugs. “You were here. In the kitchen. The journal – evil Sandburg’s journal was in the fridge…I—” 

“Jim, shut up and listen to me.” Sandburg wiggled on the rug. “You’ve got it—”

“No.” Jim went on stubbornly, shifting his gaze to the fire and ruthlessly suppressing a shudder. “No, Sandburg—Blair. As much as I’d like to believe it was a nightmare, I didn’t dream up that fly monster thing you said was evil Sandburg. I didn’t… I… didn’t.”

“Jim.” Blair leaned forward and pressed his palm on the air a quarter inch above Jim’s knee. His voice was gentle and Jim couldn’t take his eyes off that hand by his leg.

“You took the journal out of the fridge…right through the door, neat trick that…” Jim went on relentlessly, watching that hand until Sandburg huffed and pulled it back. Jim gave a little sigh of relief and then felt guilty. This was his Guide after all.

“Can I speak now?” 

“You took it outside—again with the whole walking through walls thing—and burned it.” Jim managed to look Sandburg in the face and was disconcerted at the unhappiness in his eyes. “By the time I got outside, you were gone. Where do you go anyway?”

Sandburg shook his head. “Not sure. Just … not—here.” Jim had always made fun of his Guide for talking with his hands, but he avidly watched them weave through the air. He’d really missed that. “About what I said… I think you misunderstood me, man.”

“What?” Jim tore his eyes from Sandburg’s hands. “Misunderstood what? I thought the journal belonged to guy named Andy, but you said the name was really Sandburg—“ Jim barreled doggedly on. “… the evil fly monster thing.” Jim stopped and pressed his lips together, daring his Guide to say he didn’t remember saying that.

“I never said that.” 

Jim exploded off the couch and had to twist sideways to keep from stepping on…in …through—Sandburg who smoothly rose to his feet and grabbed at Jim’s arm.

“Agggghhh!” Jim backpedalled. “No! You can’t say you never said it! You did! We were in the kitchen and YOU SAID IT.” Jim shouted. Dropping his head, Jim rubbed at his mouth and then the back of his neck agitatedly. “You said it Blair. You did.” Jim whispered, meeting his Guide’s eyes. “And if you didn’t…” Jim swallowed heavily. “…then I’ve … I’ve lost mind.” He said even lower.

“You haven’t lost your mind Jim.” Sandburg glided close enough to touch, but didn’t reach out for which Jim was thankful. “You really haven’t. What I said was… the journal belonged to a different Sandburg. Right?”

“Yes.” Duh. Jim nodded his head slowly and opened his mouth to speak.

“No. Wait.” Sandburg lifted a hand to stop him. “That’s all I said.”

“No. Look Chief.” Jim said the pet name without thinking and blinked at the smile that flew across Sandburg’s face, distracted. “You said…” Jim closed his eyes and tried to remember. After a moment, Sandburg started talking. 

“Listen Jim. You were upset and not hearing what I was saying.” _Like always,_ Jim heard the unspoken words hanging in the air and flushed. It was the truth. The only time he’d ever listened to his Guide was when his senses crashed and there was no one else around. 

“Are you listening now?” Jim could swear his Guide was trying not to smile. He nodded obediently and waited as patiently as possible. “Yes. The journal is Sandburg’s. Not me, another totally unrelated bastard Sandburg. I never…” Coming closer, his Guide peered up into his eyes. 

For just a moment, Jim was distracted by the thought that now that Sandburg could float around, he should float up a bit so he could look him straight in the eye. A smile tugged at his lips at the image and he was aware of the kid calling his name.

“… swear you didn’t hear a word I said.”

“Um… what?” Jim said sheepishly. “Go on. I’m listening. I _am.”_ He emphasized when Sandburg raised one eyebrow. “Spit it out Chief.”

“The – _entity_ – you call the fly monster is not a Sandburg, evil or otherwise.”

“What? Can you repeat that cause I thought you just said … Evil Sandburg isn’t the fly thing.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” Blair nodded emphatically. “They aren’t the same – entity at all.”

“Then what the hell is it!!!” Jim roared, pacing up and down the room. “What the hell…. How many fucking monsters are in this damn house?”

“Calm down Jim.” Sandburg pleaded, matching Jim’s pacing. “Just calm down and let’s discuss this like rational adults.”

“Rational adults?” Jim snorted a laugh and came to a dead stop. “Let me tell you Chief, rational adults do not sit around discussing how many fucking ghosts are in the house!” Jim’s voice rose until he was shouting at the end. 

Sandburg winced and backed away. “Do you want me to come back later Jim, when you’ve calmed down?” Sandburg glanced toward the kitchen.

“No.” Jim panicked and rushed toward his Guide, stopping at the last second. “No, please.” He swallowed. “Please don’t go. Just …” Jim turned and walked over to the couch and collapsed on it, head on one arm, boots on the other, one hand over his eyes. “If the evil fucking fly monster isn’t a Sandburg—the other Sandburg—then who— _what_ — is it?”

The silence dragged on so long, Jim dropped his hand and half-sat up before he saw his Guide standing where he’d stood earlier, looking out into the rain. “Chief?” Jim said hesitantly. 

“I’m not sure if I should tell you.” Sandburg turned around, a troubled look on his face. “It’s what I came to warn you about, but now...”

“Yes, you should. You have to tell me.” Jim sat up though how he was going to force a ghost to do something… he didn’t have a clue. “It keeps showing up, along with my gun. Sandburg… Blair please, can you just explain what’s going on? I’m …” Jim scraped a hand up his face and into his hair. “I think I’m losing it man.” Sandburg twisted around when Jim said ‘gun’, eyes almost crinkling shut in pity.

“Jim.” Sandburg’s voice was impossibly gentle and Jim ran through every person he knew who was dead—good and bad guys alike. Who would want him … well… 

“It’s been here an impossibly long time.” Sandburg went on turning back to look out the window. “It’s evil and so very… old.” 

“I don’t care about all that. Just tell me his— _its_ name.” Jim said impatiently. “If it’s old, it can’t be someone I know…”

“It was here before the house was built, before the white man came, before the red man came.” Sandburg went on in a dreamy voice paying no attention to Jim who got to his feet and started walking over toward the window. “It had no—” 

“Chief?” Starting to get concerned, Jim rapped on the window to get his attention. Blinking rapidly, Sandburg looked around and nervously ran his long hair through his hands like he was going to bind it in a ponytail. “I don’t really care all that much for ancient history.” He tried a tentative smile, but Sandburg’s eyes were still kind of glazed over. “I know American Indian folklore isn’t your thing…” he stopped on a questioning note, because really maybe the kid did know everything about local history—it’s not like he ever cared before so why would he listen if it had ever came up.

“… had no name.” Sandburg went on and Jim wanted to shake him. He glanced around the room, focusing on the shadows expecting to see the fly monster laughing silently. “The first people gave it a name and it’s stuck ever since.”

“Blair SHUT UP!” Jim rapped sharply on the glass and when that had no effect, he closed his eyes and swung both arms through his Guide. This time the air felt cold and heavy, nothing like the tingling sensation when he’d cleaned the filth from his hands.

“Jim?” Jim opened one eye and peeked at Sandburg. “What are you doing, man?”

“Um.” Shrugging nonchalantly, Jim was relieved to see the glazed look gone from his Guide’s eyes and amusement laughing back at him. “You were deep in lecture mode there Chief.” Jim grinned back. “Starting to give me the creeps.”

“Lecture mode?” Sandburg frowned and looked away, clearly trying to remember. “What? My lectures give you the creeps?”

Taking a deep breath, not at all sure he wanted to bring the subject up again, but if the fly monster wasn’t Evil Sandburg—then what the hell was it? Some Indian spirit thing?

“You were going to tell me what the fly monster thing is.” Jim ducked down to watch his Guide’s eyes and make sure they didn’t go all weird again which considering he could see through Sandburg made it tough.

Sandburg laughed at his antics, but didn’t back away. “I went into a lecture mode—that I clearly don’t remember—just to tell you about ….oh…” The kid looked down avoiding Jim’s eyes.

“Hey. Come on, Chief.” Jim pushed both hands deep in pockets to avoid reaching for his Guide. “What’s so important about this thing that you – a full-fledged ghost not to mention Shaman Guide can’t even say it out loud? Spit it out.”

“Jim, I don’t think… The name doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about something else.”

“So, if you say its name, you summon it? Like a Ouija board game?” Jim laughed derisively. “Just tell me already.”

“Are you sure man? It’s … You’re… Maybe…” Jim had never seen Sandburg so indecisive. 

“Tell—me—the—monster’s—name.” Jim enunciated in an exaggeratedly slow manner. The kid chewed on his bottom lip and Jim thought his eyebrows were going to fall off if he didn’t lower them soon.

“Okay.” Sandburg said slowly. “The name … the first people gave the … entity is—” 

Thunder crashed and a crack of lighting hit close by. The lights went out and the room was engulfed in darkness.

“Ellison.”

 

 

 

 

 

-*-


	16. Chapter 16

*-*

Nothing. Jim was still sitting in the corner with his back to the wall, gripping the flashlight with both hands when dawn finally started to lighten the room. When the lights had gone out, he’d made a dive for the closest flashlight, crashing into the hearth. Broad sweeping beams across the room revealed … nothing. No Sandburg—no monsters—no flies. Backing slowly into the corner he’d waited, afraid to call out—to call attention to himself. Sliding down the wall until he was sitting with knees pulled up, he discovered the mind couldn’t hold onto panic for hours on end. Eventually even gasping breaths slowed down and so did the heart rate. For a minute he almost fell asleep.

He’d huddled there alone, afraid to move, waiting for something … and all that had happened was the fire burned low and the room grew very cold. He still wasn’t about to get up to grab the afghan and throw a few logs on the fire, not yet. Eventually the call of nature forced his stiff muscles to move and the silence allowed him to pretend everything was normal. There was no such thing as ghosts—everything had just been a nightmare or two. That’s what any competent psychiatrist would say, peering at him over the rims of half-glasses as he or she scribbled frantically on a notepad—or maybe clicked away on a laptop. 

If he opened his mouth – to anyone – and spoke about what had happened since he’d first walked in the door… no, since he’d first woken up in the hospital… they’d lock him up before he could run again. He’d really go crazy locked up, nuthouse or prison, it was basically the same place. 

Okay, he couldn’t be locked up, so he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t leave here because even if everything had been a nightmare—his Guide would come here. He should try to force a vision and talk to Sandburg, maybe together they could figure out what to do. He needed answers. Maybe there was a way to get rid of the fly monster and they could stay here together. He’d complete the repairs, build the deck and even if no one else ever saw the Chief, he could and he’d be happy with that.

*-*

 

In the two weeks since any ghostly appearances and Jim had relaxed enough that he was breathing easier and not jumping at the slightest sound. The weather had turned colder and he spent most days in a chair he dragged over to the window watching tiny snowflakes blow in the wind. Shivering in the cold, he still refused to go to town and get some warmer clothes. He’d never gotten the furnace fixed and needed to see about that before the pipes froze. 

“Just face it moron, you’re afraid to leave the house.” He told the reflection staring back at him in the window. His beard was coming out nicely in the two weeks since… since… in the last two weeks. “But we’re out of beer.” The reflection whined and Jim nodded. No beer, no bread, no cereal, no milk, no nothing. “You need to go today.” The reflection grimaced at him. “Sure okay. I can do that.” Jim looked down at the gun in his lap. “I can do that.”

At first he decided to carry it around with him all the time so the fly monster – he refused to call it… call it… well, the Chief was probably wrong about the name anyway – wouldn’t keep handing it to him like a present, but he realized he’d missed it. He’d been carrying a gun for years, and should have felt naked without it. Well, technically, he’d _worn_ a gun for years, almost always in a shoulder holster. His holster was probably still upstairs in the suitcase. For now he needed to feel the gun in his hand …ready.

He’d had lots of time to think and figured there were a lot of things he _should_ have felt and hadn’t. He didn’t know what he’d do if his Guide never came back, but surprisingly that wasn’t one of the things he worried about. Sandburg would come. The fly monster probably would too. So it made no sense that he was afraid to _leave_ the house—he should be far, far away by now.

He’d been here a couple months and he hadn’t spared a thought for Simon and the rest of the team. The only reason he could come up with was he’d been angry and need to show them the kid wasn’t dead. Well that hadn’t turned out well. “Sorry you were right all along Simon, but I was too because you see Sandburg is a ghost and he visits sometimes and…” yeah, he could see how that might go.

He should be in a panic about his senses, or on the other hand – relieved that they were gone when he had no Guide to center him, but he felt nothing. That was it, he felt numb. Ignoring his reflection he saw the snow had stopped and the wind died down. A good a time as any to make a grocery run. 

Rubbing his cheek, he decided not to waste the time spent growing the beard, lots of men did in the winter and since his skin wasn’t sensitive anymore why not keep it. He was the only one he had to please, after all. So, right. He’d get out of this chair and grab his keys and go to town. Probably wasn’t any colder out there than it was in here. Yeah, in a minute or two. 

 

*-*

 

“Enqueri?"

Jim opened his eyes and blinked up at the Chopec shaman. “Great.” He mumbled, mouth dry from disuse. “Another ghost to add to the party.”

“This is a dream, not a celebration.” Incacha reached down and pulled Jim up and they were standing in the blue jungle clearing. Jim could hear birds shrieking and something roared in the distance. “I am weary and gravely disappointed.”

“Yeah, well I’m not so happy myself.” Jim grumbled, looking around, avoiding Incacha’s eyes.

“Even if your senses have hidden, you are still the Sentinel of the Great City, but above all you need to listen to your Guide.”

“My Guide is dead! _Dead,_ Incacha! How am I supposed to be a Sentinel when my Guide is a ghost?” Jim snarled, fists clenching at his sides.

Incacha shrugged. “Your Guide has gone ahead, as is his right. You are not a child to need your hand held to fulfill your duties.” 

“I don’t...” Jim paced angrily back and forth around the small clearing, kicking at small shrubs in his path. “I can’t… Incacha. It’s not that easy. My Guide is dead.” He said mournfully.

“Can you hear my voice Sentinel? Can you see me?” Incacha stopped Jim’s pacing with one hand to his arm, strong fingers digging into his skin. 

“What?” Glaring at the hand on his arm, Jim waited impatiently. “Of course I can see and hear you and apparently you can touch me. That’s three senses, wanna go for five?” Jim jerked his arm away, but moved around to face Incacha.

“Am I in your world?” Incacha went on patiently, arms folded over his chest, face impassive.

“This is a dream.” Jim spat. “So no, I don’t think _either_ of us is in my world.”

“You are being deliberately blind.” Incacha cocked his head and studied the Sentinel. “What are you afraid of?”

“Oh…” Jim snorted in derisive laughter. “There isn’t enough time in the world to go through the list.” Lifting his hand Jim began to count off on his fingers. “I’ve lost my senses. My Guide is a ghost. There’s some fly monster … _thing_ – going by my name mind you – haunting my house and … and … there’s something wrong with me.” Jim dropped his hand and his head, unable to meet Incacha’s eyes. “I’m crazy or … something.” Gulping loudly, Jim raked a hand through his hair. “Help me, Incacha. Please. I need help.” Jim’s voice trailed off and he stared at his bare feet. Where were his boots?

“With or without your senses, the Shaman is your Guide. You must follow him and only him.”

Jim sighed and looked up but he was alone in the clearing. “Wait! What does that mean!!!”

“Your path is clear, Enqueri. Follow your Guide.” Incacha’s voice was a mere whisper on the wind. 

Twirling around Jim shouted angrily, screaming Incacha’s name several times before dropping to his knees. “Why won’t you damn ghosts come when someone calls?” He despaired. “I need you.” He added, not sure which one he meant, maybe both.

 

*-*

_Follow your Guide._ Well. Jim swallowed and thumped his head back on the couch. No! Ellisons _never_ … come to think of it… _Elllllizon._ Something in the back of his mind laughed darkly at the drawn out name. There was too much he didn’t understand. Incacha had never lied to him, but he was never obvious either so the meaning that first leapt into his mind at the command could be wrong. Or he could be misunderstanding. It wasn’t wise to jump to conclusions with Incacha. Heaven knows he’d screwed up enough doing that with Sandburg.

_“The Guide is there to lead the way._ ” That’s what the old gypsy woman had said. 

“Well.” He told the fire. “The only place my Guide went was…death.” Banging his head back again he stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe they were telling him what he thought they were saying. It had to be something else. It had to be.

He was sure of that because it was what the fly monster thing obviously wanted and it couldn’t be the same thing, right? He was pretty sure the fly thing didn’t wish him well. Why couldn’t someone just _tell_ him what to do? Why did they have to make everything so difficult?

 

*-*


	17. Chapter 17

Late Sunday afternoon, Jim stretched lazily, uncurling himself from the tangle of chair and quilt only to find Blair standing in the doorway watching him curiously. He was motionless, but the slight smile on his face showed he’d been there awhile.

“Fuck, don’t do that!” Jim stuttered a breath and sunk back in the chair. Blair drifted closer, a worried look wiping the smile away. 

“Jim.” He stopped behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw one pale hand curl around the back of his chair. “We need to talk.”

Snorting a laugh, Jim swiveled around to stare up in amazement. “You want to talk? _Now_ you want to talk?” Untangling himself with jerky movements, Jim got to his feet and stalked to the kitchen. Rummaging around in the fridge, he found one lone beer, still there since it was supposed to be some low calorie crap. How it got mixed in his carton of long necks he’ll never know. “So… talk.” He twisted off the cap and tossed it toward the trash without looking behind him.

“Come and sit down.” _Placating._ He wasn’t going to like it then.

“That’s all I do anymore—sit and sleep that is.” He tilted his head back to take a deep swig and felt the gun shift in his waistband. Pushing it back in place with one hand, Jim turned to lean against the counter, letting the bottle hit with a sharp snick. “Sometimes, just for fun I lay and sleep.” He snorted. 

“Jim. Please listen—” _Both hands waving entreatingly._ Uh oh.

“No.” Jim shook his head mulishly. “I’ve sat here and waited and waited for you to show up and explain and that never seems to happen. Then the fly… thing… starts haunting me—the more the merrier, I guess…” He laughed mirthlessly. “But you never explain anything. At least _it…_ ” Jim trailed off and pulled the gun out and placed it carefully on the counter on the side away from Sandburg, automatically checking the safety.

“Jim? Why… why are you carrying your gun around?” Blair rushed the words together like he thought he’d be interrupted before he got them all out. 

“Why not?” He took another swig and clenched his jaw. “It’s my gun.”

“Not the point.” Jim watched curiously as Sandburg’s face twitched through several emotions only to settle on annoyed. “You’re not so stupid as to be thinking of suicide.” He declared in a low voice. “I won’t allow it.”

Jim laughed mid-sip spilling beer down his shirt. Wiping at it with one hand, he set the bottle down hard and took three steps toward Blair. “You won’t _allow_ it?” He could wave his arms around wildly too. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m your Guide, you idiot.” Sandburg’s voice was harder than Jim remembered hearing it before.

“Ahhh.” Jim nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well according to Incacha and the fly horror… oh and let’s not forget the old gypsy woman—I’m supposed to follow _you.”_ Jim pointed an accusing finger at Sandburg.

“Inchacha was here?” Sandburg leaned forward eagerly, animosity forgotten. “When? What did he say? How did he look? Oh man, I wish I’d seen—”

“He said…” Jim talked loudly and smiled grimly when the kid’s smile fell off his face. “He said ‘follow your Guide.’” Jim lowered his voice in a fair imitation of Incacha’s voice. “So. I’m going to do just that.” 

“No. Jim please.” Sandburg rushed forward, stopping only inches from Jim. “Incacha didn’t mean to follow me into death. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“The fly creeper did. He kept bringing me my gun until I finally figured out what I’m supposed to do.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to do!” Blair cried, whirling around and going back to the living room to hover in front of the fire. “Not ever! Do you understand me!”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” Jim shouted after him, stomping from the kitchen. “Tell me oh wise and wonderful _Guide!”_ Flopping down on the couch, Jim rubbed at his suddenly blurry eyes, and came away with wet fingers. Great. Just fucking great.

“You’re drunk or something.” Blair finally says, turning around. “I’ll just go—” 

“Don’t you dare leave this room ‘til you explain!” Jim shouted, surging to his feet. “You come and go and never answer a single damn question and oooooh I have so fucking many!”

“Fine.” His Guide stopped and turned back to face Jim. His face was curiously calm, but Jim could see his fists clenched as Sandburg stuffed them in his pockets. “Ask away. No, wait. Sit down and calm down. Then ask whatever you want. I’ll try to answer.” 

Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm himself, Jim let it out slowly and walked toward the couch. Finally he’d get some answers and maybe a clue about what to do next.

Perched nervously on the edge of the couch, clasped hands hanging between his knees, Jim fought to say calm. “Sandburg.” He said with a little nod, trying to remember the speech he’d memorized earlier, words coming to him in bits and pieces over the last few days. “Blair….” He began again and dropped his head in resignation watching Sandburg sink into a lotus position on the rug in front of the fire, palms up and open, waiting patiently.

“First I… there’s some things I should’ve said a long time ago…” Jim shrugged and avoided the kid’s eyes. His anger had somehow disappeared. “I’ve had nothing to do but think and I guess… no, I’m sure…” he gave a short laugh. “I owe you an apology at the very least—probably with extensive groveling. I even memorized a speech.” He smiled tightly, but it was gone in an instant.

“Blair I…” Jim rubbed at his face and knew he was flushing. He couldn’t seem to get the words to flow. 

“It’s ok man.” Blair smiled. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“You … you showed up out of the blue and saved my sanity.” Jim nodded. Yeah. Ok not the plan, but it would work. “I thought I was losing my mind. I thought…” Jim looked down at his boots in embarrassment. “I… thought Simon or my father was going to lock me up and throw away the key.”

“You wormed your way into my life, and somehow made yourself into my friend.” Jim finally looked up and met Sandburg’s eyes with a little quirk of his lips. “Me. Always the loner. I never… I never really had a friend until you. Never really wanted one.”

“Jim.” Blair said softly, but Jim ignored the sympathetic look in his eyes and tone of his voice. Pity was the last thing he was interested in.

“Yeah, I’ve had people.” He nodded. “Commanders, subordinates, teams, even very brief partners—every combo you can think of, even family—hell I’ve got a brother I don’t know and a father I wouldn’t trust to take out the garbage—but never a friend. And I didn’t miss it.” He gave Sandburg an adamant glare. “I _didn’t._ You can’t miss something you never had. But… then you came along and showed me what a friend—a best friend—and I didn’t … I didn’t… “

“It’s ok Jim. I’m proud to be your friend.” Sandburg smiled tentatively. “I haven’t had so many friends either, what with all the moving around and… you know. Naomi.”

“And in the arrogant wisdom of the Sentinel of the Great City, I didn’t even realize it until you were… you were… were… gone.” Jim whispered the last word.

Sandburg was silent so long, that Jim was afraid to look up and find him gone again. With a heavy sigh, Jim slumped back and saw to his surprise Sandburg was still sitting in front of him on the floor.

“Jim.” Blair said hesitantly seeming to want to not scare Jim away. “I don’t know why or how or …I don’t seem to have any control over what I do or why I end up here.” He chuckled softly. “I don’t really remember anything except when I’m tugged back to you.” 

“To me or…” Jim gestured at the urn on the mantle without looking at it. Blair frowned at it and with a quick glance at Jim, jumped up to walk over and study it. He had to reach up since the mantle was over his head.

“Nice.” Running one finger over his name, he shuddered and walked away but Jim caught his eyes straying to it again and again. “So…” He let out a heavy breath. “I guess I really am ….” He gestured at the urn. “Did anyone bother to tell Naomi?”

“I dunno.” Jim shrugged guiltily. “I was in the hospital until I … left. I was out of it for days and everything had been taken care of when I … woke up.”

“You … _left?”_ Jim ducked, recognizing that tone of voice. “You just walked out and left?”

“They said you were dead and I knew you weren’t.” Jim insisted. “I had a vision.”

“You had a vision?!” Sandburg bounced excitedly and started pacing. “When? I mean I had one too.”

“You did?” Jim laughed. “That’s…wow that’s just incredible! What was it like? We should compare notes.” 

Sandburg rounded on Jim and cocked his head to the side. “I think it was when I … when I … drowned.” Blair swallowed and went on. “Everything was colored—”

“Blue!” Jim jumped to his feet and rushed to stand in front of Blair, hands spread out to grab his Guide, but he stopped himself, letting them twitch uselessly in front of him. “Everything was blue and the wolf—”

“And the jaguar were there, they jumped at each other and I—” Blair laughed excitedly, his own hands waving in expansive gestures.

“You didn’t drown in the vision! I saved you.” Jim finished with a grin that slowly faded. “But it didn’t happen like that.”

“Yeah.” Blair said despondently and went to the windows. “We shared a vision, but I still… died.”

“So what happens now?” Jim rubbed his face and watched Blair. 

“What do you mean?” Blair turned around, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“I mean do you just follow me around and haunt me? What else is there if I can’t follow you?” The corner of Jim’s mouth turned up in a crooked half-smile. “Not that I’m complaining or anything. I … I really missed you kid. Like I said before my senses are … gone, but I can’t cope without you.” He laughed and looked at his hands. “I called Simon a liar when he tried to convince me you were dead.” He walked over to stand beside Sandburg and they both stared out the window. 

“Jim, if you eat your gun, I swear I’ll…” His Guide rounded on him with a fierce look. “I’ll kill you myself!”

Jim laughed and for the first time, things almost felt normal. He wanted to reach out and fluff the kid’s hair. That always got a reaction out of him.

“I don’t know man.” Blair shrugged. “I don’t know how long I can stay here. I don’t know anything for sure, except you can’t follow me where I am now.”

“What about the fly thing?” Jim growled. “You seemed to know quite a bit about it. I want it gone.”

Sandburg laughed derisively. “I’m the last person you want to ask about exorcising a ghost.”

*-*


	18. Chapter 18

-*-

 

“Wake up, Ellison! Come on man, all you do is sleep.” Fighting against deep sleep, Jim cracked open bleary eyes and found Sandburg perched on the end of his bed facing away from him, looking toward the moonlit window. “You do have interesting visitors in your dreams.”

“Chief?” With a groan, Jim sat up and scrubbed fingers across matted eyes. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“The old man was right. You need to follow your … me. Follow me, Sentinel.” Sandburg reached out and laid a dark lump on top of the quilt between them, barely turning around. Huffing a laugh, he patted the quilt before getting up and heading for the door. “You know what to do.”

“Chief! Wait…” Jim pushed the covers back, but Sandburg was gone. With a sigh he climbed back in the warm bed, feeling around for the dark lump. It was his gun, which he’d left on the bedside table before going to bed. Grabbing it, he immediately dropped it with a string of curse words and fumbled for the light. Both hand and gun were covered in crawling green flies. 

 

*-*

 

Three days later, Jim walked through the dining room and stopped in surprise. The Chief stood in front of the window, his nose almost touching the glass, staring out at the snowfall lost silent fascination. Or not.

“I thought we could try to have another vision, Jim.” He suggested, slowly placing one palm on the glass. “Maybe…Maybe we can find some answers.” Jim met his eyes in the reflection and smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t run away today. 

“Vision?” He stopped, standing in the middle of the room. “How can we force a vision?” Did he want to have another vision? What was the point. The kid was a ghost, what was the point of anything.

Sandburg turned and Jim couldn’t see his eyes clearly in the shadows. “I think we need to merge. It might help me figure out what’s going on. Because…” Blair looked down at his hands twisting together and back up at Jim. “I seem to be getting… less. I could touch things at first, then it was only cold sensation that made your hands burn and now, now I…” Sandburg put one arm behind him and it disappeared into the wall and came back out again. “…I can’t feel anything. It’s an effort not to sink through the floor.” He looked down at his feet and gave a little gurgle of a laugh. “I guess that’s why ghosts are always floating around.”

Jim took an involuntary step backwards and ran into the coffee table. Wind-milling his arms, he was able to keep from falling back, but it was a close call. When he looked up again, the kid was standing right in front of him. Jim sucked in a short breath and whispered. “Chief?” He was shaking his head no, when Blair reached out. “You mean you just… step inside of me? No… I…” but Blair’s hand had touched his chest, slid through the thick wool sweater and Jim shivered and tried to step back again, banging the back of his leg into the hard coffee table.

“Hold still.” Blair complained and reached out his other hand, leaning forward. 

Jim howled in fear and went down, smashing into the coffee table and knocking over this morning’s cold coffee and last night’s half-gone stale beer. Rolling off to the side, Jim looked up and Blair was gone. “Come back.” He called, awkwardly getting to his feet and ignoring the beer and coffee running together on the floor. “I’m sorry. I… you surprised me is all. We can... we can do the merge thing.” Jim looked around hopefully, but after several minutes, his face fell. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, knowing he’d failed his Guide again. But he couldn’t get over the sensation of touching the fly monster and this was nearly the same, right?

Turning slowly he walked slowly, steps dragging to the kitchen for a towel. Maybe he’d make more coffee.

*-*

 

It had been three weeks, 21 days 4 hours and he’d forgotten the minutes again. It was written on the small white board on the fridge in red marker. The last time his Guide had showed up. He’d finally gone into town and had a quick lunch at Mama’s for a real homey Thanksgiving Dinner. 

Jim sat in the rocker and looked at the pine trees across the road, at the oaks with their roots buried in snow, at the clear deep blue sky. Anywhere but at the gun balanced precariously in his lap. Fingers tapped a forgotten tune on the arms of the rocker while his boots went up and down. He’d already travelled a thousand miles in this rocker and still hadn’t found his Guide. It hadn’t taken long to get the snow off the porch and it really wasn’t that cold outside with the sun.

As if on its own accord, one hand dropped into his lap and he began to absently stroke the gun with one finger until the metal wasn’t cold anymore. Fingers flicking over the trigger, around the trigger guard and up the handle, pausing briefly at the safety before moving up to glide down up and down the barrel, he watched the wind blow snow-devils around the ground.

He’d had this gun—his _service weapon_ —a since he’d joined CPD. It had saved his life numerous times. He’d been tempted many times to get a nine mil, but in the end he was too superstitious to replace a perfectly good weapon. It was a personal decision and one he was comfortable with. He knew this gun and it knew him. They belonged.

He wasn’t thinking either. Not about time or loneliness or cold or hunger and especially not about his Guide and the gun in his lap. It really wasn’t just a gun. It was a ticket—a one way ticket to Sandburg. Probably. But he wasn’t thinking about that. 

The cold must have been too much for even the fly-monster, he hadn’t made another appearance or moved the gun.

Soon, when it was too dark to see across the road and the sky had turned purple and grey, he’d get up and put the gun back in the top drawer in the bedside table and go to bed. Just like he had every night for the last few weeks. Probably.

Maybe he should set a time limit. Get out the calendar and pick a date. He could close his eyes and point. Drop-dead date. With a snort, he rocked a little faster. He’d tried calling and dreaming and praying and begging and now he was down to waiting. He could wait, he was good at waiting. Good at sitting outside a perp’s house and _waiting._ But not too long, he had limits just like everyone else. Not yet though, not tonight. It wouldn’t happen tonight. Probably. 

The darkness came earlier these days, he almost missed the sliver of moon hidden by swirling dark clouds. The same wind that pushed the clouds around, blew against Jim’s face and he shivered violently. Sliding the safety back on, he stood and gave a last look around before going back inside to poke up the fire and huddle in front of it for a bit. He’d have to fix the front door to keep out the winter or they’d all freeze. Probably. 

-*-


	19. Chapter 19

*-*

“Jim, I’ve been feeling weird these last few days. Like… Like I won’t be around much longer. I’m so sorry.” Blair looked down at his lap, both hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, the rocker unmoving. “I… I think I have to go man. Move… on.”

“What?” Jim’s head snapped around in shock. “No. No you can’t go! You’ve been able to stay for almost a whole week without disappearing! You … Sandburg you _promised!_ You said—”

Blair looked up at Jim helplessly and ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back and to one side in a gesture Jim had seen him repeat a thousand times. “It’s not up to me.” Jim saw the struggle he was having to keep calm. Could a ghost really cry? 

“When?” Jim asked tersely frantically trying to figure a way around this and kept coming up with nothing. “They said your senses are gone and you don’t need a Guide. They said you left Cascade and if you’re not a detective you don’t need a partner anymore. They said—”

Jim had had enough. Exploding out of the rocker, he roared at Blair, flinging both arms in the air. “They said…they said… Who the hell is _they_ and how come they get to say anything!” He stalked toward his Guide— _his Guide,_ stopping only until he was leaning over the kid.

Shaking his head mutely, he gave Jim a miserable look before dropping his head again. 

Jim growled and flung himself to the front railing. Holding tightly with both hands, he gulped air and reached for control. Sandburg couldn’t leave him and that was that. Finally he turned around and leaned back against the porch rail. The kid hadn’t moved, beyond peeking up at him to gauge his mood. When Jim turned around, he shrugged one shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” Rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, he shrugged again. “You think I want to go?”

“When?” Jim said with as much calm as he could muster. “Did _they_ tell you anything beyond ‘soon’?” To stop from rushing over to try taking him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, Jim shoved both hands in his pockets and crossed his legs at the ankle.

“Very soon?” Blair peeked up at him again. “I don’t… I just don’t know. Things are very vague and ambiguous.” He let out a big sigh and slumped back in the rocker. “I’m not sure that’s all the warning I’ll get. I mean…” Wiggling around a bit, Jim’s eyes widened when parts of Blair moved through the rocker, Blair leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I hope I can say goodbye, but if … if there’s no time and I’m just… not here anymore...” His lips quirked, but he didn’t move his head or open his eyes. “… then know that I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

“No.” Jim shook his head even though Blair couldn’t see him. “You’re not leaving me behind again.” His gun was always close and if his Guide left… abandoned him here, well he knew how to use it. It had only taken his Guide a few hours to lift him out of the depression he’d fallen into. He’d even laughed. And now he was talking of leaving again? No. Oh. Hell. No.

“These are really comfortable rockers, I’m glad you found them.” Sandburg went on as if Jim hadn’t spoken. “I’ll get one just like this and park it just inside the pearly gates and chat with St. Peter until you get there.”

“Look Chief.” Jim crossed the porch in three long steps, crouching in front him. His hands went to touch the kid’s knees, but he stopped himself in time and he grabbed hold of the wooden legs. “Listen to me carefully.” Jim waited until he was looking at him with a guarded expression. “Nothing’s changed for me. I can’t make it without you. I _need_ my Guide. I _need_ my best friend.” He took a deep breath and felt suddenly calm with his decision. “If I wake up and you’re gone, if I come back from town and you’re gone… if I look up and you’re gone…” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “If you’re gone and you don’t come back in a few days… then there’ll be no need for you to get a rocker…”

“Jim…” Blair leaned forward, their foreheads almost touching. _“Please…”_

Jim ignored Blair and finished the thought. “… ‘cause I‘ll be right behind you.”

“No!” It was Blair’s turn to explode out of the rocker and he streaked through Jim causing him to shiver violently. He swiveled around to keep the kid in sight. “You will not commit suicide! Don’t even talk like that!” Raking shaky hands though his hair, he held one hand out toward Jim beseechingly. “You can’t Jim. You just can’t. It wouldn’t be your time and I don’t know… don’t… Please Jim. Promise me you won’t do that.”

“I won’t be separated from you again.” Jim stood and sat back in the other rocker, pushing off with his feet in a fast rock. “Not gonna happen, Chief.” He said calmly crossing his arms across his chest. “It was almost a month last time. And even if there’s no fly monster—I can’t take it anymore.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” It was Blair’s turn to crouch in front of Jim who had to stop the rocker from moving because he couldn’t bear to see the rockers go through the kid’s feet.

“There’s not gonna be any discussion Chief. I’ve made up my mind.” Jim said smugly, with only a hint of trepidation. What if … what if he did that and they couldn’t be together. “Unless…” He trailed off trying to read something—anything in the kid’s expression. Maybe he knew something and wasn’t allowed to say or… Jim groaned. Speculation would get him nowhere, he needed facts. 

Blair surged to his feet and started pacing up and down the porch, his feet silent on the snowy boards. Jim hid a smile, tracking him as he strode back and forth hands waving as if he could assemble his arguments from the air. The kid had gone into lecture mode. He’d missed that.

“I don’t know what would happen. I just have a really bad feeling about it.” He stopped in front of Jim and wrung his hands. “Please promise me you won’t do… that. Promise me Jim.”

“Sandburg.” Jim leaned forward. “I am not—“

“Promise me right now you won’t do something so stupid!” He started pacing again. “You’re the Sentinel of the Great City, not some dumb schmoe off the street! You can’t do that!”

“Sandburg.” Jim held up a hand to get Sandburg’s attention, but the kid rounded on him and fell without a sound to his knees in front of Jim. 

“Please Jim.” One long curl fell over his face and Jim longed to push it back. “Please promise me you won’t kill yourself. Please. I’m begging here, man.” 

Jim started to reiterate his intentions and stopped. What if the kid knew something and couldn’t say. What if they couldn’t be together if he … if he died before his time? What if he did something stupid to ruin forever?

“Okay.” He said in a small, uncertain voice and Blair let out a sigh of relief. “Just know that I’ll be in bad shape if you leave again and it won’t take long before I’m either locked up or fade away.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Blair rose to his feet in one smooth move. “I really am, but this is nothing to fool around with. I don’t have the answers, but many cultures….” Shaking his head back and forth, Blair bit at his lips and got back to his feet. “I just don’t know Jim, but I don’t want to take any chances either. Perhaps …” Blair licked his lips and leaned against the railing. “There might be something you have to do first… like something only you can do.”

“I don’t know anything about that, but it’s gonna be hard.” Jim looked at his watch. “I told Cindy I’d come and look at her haunted doorknob.” He grinned. “The key works about half the time and she’s convinced it’s haunted. I tried to tell her to just change the doorknob and get a different lock, but she ordered this one and paid a big price for it.” They shared a chuckle, letting the earlier subject go for now.

“You better get going then.” Blair settled back in his rocker and grinned. “And don’t even think about stopping at that hamburger joint on the way back. That stuff’s worse than Wonderburger.”

“Ah man. Be here when I get back.” Jim snorted out a laugh and took the steps to the front walk, digging in his pocket for the truck keys. “You’re no fun what-so-ever!” Throwing one hand up in a wave, he backed out and headed to town. 

*-*


	20. Chapter 20

*-*

 

_Opening his eyes to darkness, Jim tried to scream, but his mouth and nose were filled with crawling flies. His hands and feet were weighted down and he couldn’t get out of bed or even turn over. Flies crawled all over him, under the quilt and on his bare skin. The buzzing noise in the bedroom was louder than his muffled shrieks._

_He couldn’t breathe without sucking in more flies clogging his mouth and throat. Stifled moans were all he managed before realizing he couldn’t breathe at all. Panic took over and he convulsed, only moving a few inches above the bed._

_Tossing his head from side to side trying to dislodge the army of flies covering him, Jim gagged and instead of vomiting and drowning in his own vomit he managed to swallow a mouthful of flies. Sucking in another breath, he spit trying to clear his mouth. Thousands more landed and crawled over his body, swarming him. Clenching his eyes shut tightly, Jim tried to breathe through a tiny space between his lips, but he coughed uncontrollably and more flies filled his mouth._

_Somewhere in the distance, over the incessant buzzing, he heard maniacal laughter. It sounded like his own voice, but that couldn’t be right._

_‘God! Help me! Guide! Sandburg! Please! Sandburg!’ He screamed inside his head when he felt the weight of the flies pushing him deeper and deeper into the mattress. He was going to die and no one would find him before spring—body chewed… eaten? By millions or billions of flies. They could probably live on him for months._

_He pictured his half-eaten body, the rest crawling with maggots and thrashed harder, knowing if he didn’t get free he would die here._

“GAH!” Jim lurched out of bed and promptly landed on hands and knees on the floor, vomit spewing on the rug. Barely realizing he could breathe, Jim sucked in great gulps of air ignoring the thick string of vomit hanging from his mouth. 

After a few minutes, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at it in disgust. A handful of tissues later, he managed to get to his feet on shaky knees. Finding no trace of flies in the dim light, Jim flipped on the lamp, to make certain. Heart still pounding wildly, he sat on the edge of the bed, bare toes inches from the vomit. 

“A nightmare.” Wearily, he rubbed both hands across his face and up thru his hair. “Just a fucking nightmare.” Blowing a harsh breath, it caught on a sob. How had his life become a horror story too unbelievable for late night tv?

“Enough. That’s it. This has got to stop.” He told his feet. “What the hell are you doing Ellison.”

Still unsteady, Jim got to his feet and bundled the throw rug into the trash. He’d take it down after he had a shower. He’d shave off the stupid beard that Sandburg couldn’t stop laughing at. Clean the place up a bit and call Simon. 

Finally ready to admit he needed help. Either it was all in his mind and he was going _(too late)_ crazy or there was something truly evil in this house. He couldn’t tell reality from dreams anymore. He’d call Simon and get the guys down here and together they’d figure it out. If Blair was a ghost, then maybe the others would see him too. 

If not, if it was all in his head, then his Guide would find him wherever they locked him up. But he couldn’t go on living like this anymore. Ha. Imagine if his father could see him now. Wouldn’t that be a lecture and a half.

Stumbling down the hall, he made it to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. Shave first, then a hot shower. Maybe he’d even take the scissors to the long mess of hair hanging over his ears.

Just as he made it back to the bedroom, robe wrapped around him, the screaming started. _Sandburg!_ The kid was screaming for him from downstairs. Grabbing his gun, Jim ran down the hall barefoot and pounded down the stairs.

“Coming!” He shouted, slipping on a step and grabbing at the railing. “Sandburg, I’m coming!”

“Ellison! Quick, follow me! Someone’s hurt! Ellison!” Jim slid around the kitchen door in time to see Sandburg’s back as he rushed toward the open back door. Crossing the enclosed back porch quickly, Sandburg started to glance over his shoulder and promptly tripped down the back steps and lay still on the ground.

“NO!” Jim screamed and ran in a straight line for the back door, hip knocking painfully into the old table on the way. “Blair stop!” It wasn’t until his foot slammed into the first rotted board that Jim realized what he was doing and that Sandburg couldn’t trip over anything never mind that he never called him Ellison. Unable to stop, his other foot went completely through a half-rotted board, jagged ends digging deeply into the inside of his thigh as he went down, gun skittering across the floor.

Folding over in agony, Jim tried to pull himself out and felt the wood jab deeper. With a grunt of pain, he tried to straighten his other leg only to have another board crumble under it, leaving him with all his weight pressed on the first leg.

Immediately, he felt something warm and wet running down his leg. _Oh God, please, no._ He wasn’t a doctor, but he’d seen how fast someone bled out when just nicking their femoral artery, let along stabbing half a board in. Why hadn’t he fixed his own place before helping all those people? 

Glancing up he saw his Guide standing outside, both hands over his mouth, shaking his head no, no, no and giving Jim a hopeless look from wide, unbelieving eyes. The fly monster, still half in Sandburg form sat on the ground and shook with hysterical laughter. He could only keep his eyes open for a short time before they clenched in pain. Trying to say something, anything, he could only gasp for breath.

He was still trying to figure out how long he had when he lost consciousness. He never saw Blair frantically pulling at him, hands slipping though his body unable to grasp and touch or the tears coursing down his face until he was slumped over Jim’s body silently sobbing.

 

*-*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough, this isn't the End of the Line.  
>  Stay tuned for the epilogue.


	21. Epilogue

*-*

Pasting on a smile, Joel unbuckled his seat belt and gripped the keys tightly in his right hand. It should’ve been Simon out here running down leads checking on Ellison instead of calling from south of the border after abandoning the fruitless chase of that Barnes woman. 

He let out a breath and tried the smile again getting out of the car and walking toward the small-town grocery store. There were only a few other cars in the lot, but the town was so small it didn’t have a proper police station. He’d had to notify the state police why he was here and that he was carrying.

What had Jim been thinking? Buying a house down here in the middle of nowhere? Oh yes there was a lake, but this place was dead. Good thing Simon had put a feeler out for Ellison’s accounts. When the hit came in, none of them had believed it could be legit. Ellison walking out of the hospital in the middle of the night and then driving off with all of the kid’s stuff and barely taking anything of his own from the loft. He was clearly in no mental state to be doing anything and Joel was dragging him back if he had to cuff him in the backseat.

The door gave off a harsh jingle causing Joel to lose the smile without realizing it as he took in the scene. Marching up to the elderly cashier who was peering at the price tag on a box of instant rice, he smiled an apology to the mother in line whose groceries was checking out.

“Excuse me ladies.” Joel’s face scrunched up as he tried to fit the smile back on. The toddler on the mother’s hip took one look at him and started wailing. The mother shot him an apologetic smile and slid the kid around to her other hip, trying to rock and shush him at the same time. “Do you know this man?” Realizing he should’ve had Ellison’s picture already out, Joel reached into his inside coat pocket to get it not realizing the badge on his belt was now visible.

The old woman put down the rice and both women leaned over to smile at the picture. “Why that’s Jim!” The young mother exclaimed, taking a closer look at Joel. “Doesn’t he look smart?”

“Funny, you don’t look like the granola type.” The cashier squinted at him distrustfully. 

“Gran!” The young mother laughed and glanced up at Joel’s confused face. “That’s not Blair silly. Lost your glasses again?” She shook her head and kissed the top of the toddler’s head. “Shhhh now baby. It’s all right. This has gotta be … Joel I think.” Nodding to herself she sat the toddler on the stopped conveyer belt between the milk and a couple loaves of bread. Holding onto him with one hand she leaned back to study Joel.

“Remember, gran? Blair is short, no taller ‘en me. And he has loads of curly hair. Looks like a hippie Jim said.” The old woman harrumphed and picked up the box of rice again. “Besides, he’s white and Joel… isn’t. I suppose he could be Simon… but I’m pretty sure this is Joel.” Tickling the toddler, she grabbed him up with a laugh. “You are Joel, right?”

“I’m sorry.” Joel wondered when he’d wandered into the twilight zone. “I should’ve introduced myself first.” Clearing his throat, he held out his badge. “Joel Taggart, Detective Cascade PD. I’m looking for Jim—“

“Jim Ellison’s lake house.” The mother finished excitedly. “I’m so glad to meet you. We’ve heard so much about ya’ll.” She held out her hand eagerly and Joel shook it not quite sure what was going on. “But we kinda thought Blair would arrive before…” She trailed off and glanced at the cashier – gran. “Is he outside? Did you drive him down?” Both women craned their necks to see out into the parking lot.

“What?” Joel couldn’t have heard right. “Blair? Blair Sandburg? Why would you think he was coming … here?” He looked around the store almost frantically. “Sandburg is—”

“Is it Blair? Is Blair here?” A teenager shouted skidding to a stop at the end of the farthest aisle. “You’re not Blair.” He accused Joel walking closer, hands on hips. “Whadya want Jim for?”

“Of course he’s not Blair.” The cashier rounded on him. “Any fool could see that.” She harrumphed again and pointed a bony finger at the kid. “You got that truck unloaded yet?” He dragged his eyes from Joel and shook his head at her. She motioned him back with her hand. “Don’t come back in here until it’s done. I wanna get home at a decent hour today. My show starts at eight and I want some dinner first.”

Joel watched in fascination as the boy slumped and turned away, a ‘yes ma’am’ mumbled under his breath.

“Now.” The cashier put the rice in a paper sack and waved Joel away. “Jim might, might not be home this time of day. His house is the big old grey pile across the lake. Leave it to a man to get hopelessly lost. I’m sure Jim gave you directions.”

“You can’t miss it.” The young mother smiled at him. “I think it’s the only 2 story on the lake.”

“’Bout time some of you showed up. It’s purty lonely out on the lake in winter. Hardly anybody left.” The cashier corrected and the young mother smiled at her fondly. “Three story.” 

“Gran you can’t count the attic.”

“Why not?” She looked up from the egg carton she’d been frowning at. “It’s there ain’t it?”

“Because an attic doesn’t count as real rooms.” The mother giggled. Joel snuck out while they were still bickering, careful not to let the door jingle.

Still mumbling to himself when he unlocked his car door, Joel threw himself into the seat and blew a sigh of relief. When he found him, Ellison had some explaining to do.

 

*-*

 

The front door was unlocked and Joel pushed the door open a bit and called out to Jim. “Hey man, you in here?” Hearing nothing but a clock ticking loudly somewhere in the distance, Joel pushed the door open and stepped inside, calling out again. Jim should’ve heard him even if he’d whispered. His old truck was in the driveway, he couldn’t be far. His skin broke out in goose-bumps and Joel shivered slightly, though the air was hot and oppressive inside. Heavy even. Hard to breathe. 

Thinking maybe he was still asleep, Joel frowned at the narrow, steep staircase and called Jim’s name one more time. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, he started up the stairs grumbling softly with each step. Puffing loudly he made it to the top and leaned against the banister for a moment staring down the short hallway. Three rooms and every door standing open. Stopping briefly at each one, he glanced in taking everything at a glance. 

A kid’s room, boxes stacked neatly against the wall except for one, it was open and what looked like Sandburg’s mask collection spilling out onto the floor. Otherwise the room was spotless just like the downstairs, just like the loft every time they’d played poker.

The next door opened to an old-fashioned bathroom, wet towel hanging haphazardly on a rack, another wadded on the floor in the corner jumbled with a dirty pair of jeans, something splattered across the mirror, rings of shaving scum around the pedestal sink – very unlike the rest of the rooms so far. For a moment he was afraid he might be in the wrong house and called Jim’s name again.

The last room was the master bedroom and again Joel frowned at the mess. Mismatched sheets and blanket twisted around, hanging down, half on the floor like someone had fell out of bed after a violent dream and just… left. Dozens of dust-bunnies peeking out. Suitcase on the dresser, clothes tossed around as if Jim had been rooting for something on the bottom. Socks and underwear scattered across the top of the dresser lying on top of a thick layer of dust. Something smelled like stale vomit. How could Jim even breathe in here, he wondered. How could he sleep in here? Why clean everything else and leave this so filthy? 

Shaking his head in disgust, he turned to leave and stumbled as something rolled under his foot. Kicking a shirt aside, Joel gasped and after a moment reached down to pick up a couple of 38 shells. Rolling them in his palm, he looked around for a moment not daring to think… no Jim would never… he just wouldn’t… Dropping them in the suitcase, he did a quick search for a gun and came up with an empty holster. Hell no! 

“Jim?” He shouted again. “What the hell have you done?” He added softly. This was not happening. Determined to search the house, he started back to the hallway and stopped, cocking his head to the side. Someone was laughing. Letting out a breath he hadn’t remembered holding, his shoulders slumped in relief. He wasn’t too late. “Jim! Where are you man!” He paused, listening for a noise, anything that would tell him Jim was alive and well and his fear unfounded, but the only sound was a loud buzzing of a fly in the window. 

Getting no response, he took the first step down and heard another laugh. Turning around, he looked back and saw a small, dirty window at the end of the hall beside a smaller door he hadn’t seen before. A twinge of _something_ crawled up his spine. Maybe Jim was out back beside the lake. Before he made it to the window, Joel heard voices. Jim wasn’t—wait that sounded like… Sandburg. Maybe Jim had been right, maybe Sandburg wasn’t—no forget that. He’d been at the funeral, it was open casket and he’d _seen_ the kid’s body. No mistake, it was Sandburg they’d cremated. Aware his heart was pounding, Joel took a couple deep breaths and tried for calm. _Get a grip._ He was a detective with Cascade PD, not some teenager sneaking around in a haunted house. There were no such things. Wouldn’t the guys laugh at him now? 

Whoever was outside with Jim just sounded like Sandburg, that’s all. Just a coincidence. Sure. That’s why he could barely force one foot in front of the other as he shuffled toward the window, shivering as a drop of sweat slowly slid down his back. Somehow his skin was icy cold and burning hot all at the same time. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, but unable to stop.

A moment later he was there, but his eyes refused to look down where he could hear the voice and see two indistinct figures moving toward the water. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the distance, where misty sky met the water until he could take a breath and then another and another, trying to stop his heart from racing and push his stomach back down where it belonged.

Carefully, letting his gaze drop to the figures walking, Joel’s hands gripped the windowsill in disbelief. He was hallucinating, had to be. _Just a little dizzy spell from climbing all those stairs._ No way was that Sandburg, skipping backward in front of Ellison, keeping just a few steps ahead smiling broadly and talking loudly, both hands gesturing wildly, hair blowing in the breeze. No way was that Jim striding forward, head thrown back laughing, hands thrust deep in his pockets. Nearly at the water’s edge, they both stopped. 

Joel watched in terrified fascination as Sandburg grinned and held up one hand. Ellison stopped and tilted his head to side before turning slightly to glance up at the window and right at – _through_ – him and winked. Turning back, he lifted a hand to high five Sandburg who was already talking and moving to walk beside Ellison. Together, side-by-side.

He wanted to run, escape, but his feet were frozen and his mouth was gaping open—no sound came out at all even though he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Maybe this was all a nightmare, the kind where you’re so scared, you can’t make a sound. Frozen in fear… no … _terror._ Yeah, he’d been afraid before and it was nothing like this. If he could think, actually put two thoughts together, he’d be praying. Loudly. 

Blinking quickly to clear his eyes, Joel scrubbed at the dirty window with one hand and looked out again. Yes, it really was his friends down there, happy and laughing, walking right out into… _on to_ … the water. Tears slipping unnoticed down his face, Joel stared as they disappeared in the mist, his breath coming in little gasps. Finally, his heart calmed and the feeling of icy terror slid away, replaced by a deep sadness. 

Long after the figures were gone, Joel stood at the window and collected himself before going to find Ellison, knowing he’d find his body around here somewhere, service weapon still in his hand or close by. No one would believe him, but it didn’t matter, he had no intentions of ever breathing a word of this to anyone. With a last glance he saw the sun had broken through the clouds and a single ray shone down on the water. “Go with God, my friends.” He whispered. “Go with God.”

At least they were together. Ellison – _Jim_ looked happier than Joel had seen him for a long time and Sandburg looked ecstatic. Chuckling softly, Joel turned and started down the stairs wondering just what Sandburg had been explaining to Jim at the last. When his foot hit the top step, something heavy thumped against the floor above, directly over Joel’s head.

*-*

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who made this journey for Jim and Blair so enjoyable.


End file.
